Bits and Pieces
by writergirl2003
Summary: The story Lana was chasing was the beginning of the end. No one realized it until it was much too late.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any of its characters.

Spoilers: None, yet. Later chapters will spoil S2E5 with slight differences.

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"Tell me about it one more time."

The corners of Lana's mouth turned upward into a smirk as the tips of her fingers played over the other girl's hair, curling it gently as she spoke. She pressed her cheek against the top of Wendy's warm forehead, her eyelashes fluttering against flushed skin.

"Darling, I've told you a million times," she smiled in spite of herself.

"And I want to hear it a million more," came the soft reply, voice tinted with just a hint of coarseness. Her eyes darted up in the dim light of the room to catch Lana's gaze. Her lips moved in a silent plea.

"Okay," Lana sighed quietly, adjusting her position in her-_their-_bed before brushing a gentle kiss against the top of Wendy's head. "One more time tonight, then you've got to get some sleep so you'll feel better. I know you want to get back to work and you can't do that as long as you're sick." She peered adoringly down at her lover before clearing her throat.

"There will be a small white picket fence upon pulling up to the curb. It will run the length of the front yard and around to the back. The walkway to the front porch will be lined with flowers, and there will be-"

"What kind of flowers?" Wendy interrupted, her eyes fluttering open with the question.

"What kind of flowers do you want?" Lana posed, curling her fingertips into Wendy's palm.

"I'm thinking peonies," she responded quietly, "pink, purple and white. Maybe some hydrangeas in the flower bed just in front of the porch. Would you like that?"

Lana nodded, "I would. With your touch they'd blossom and grow all summer. On the front porch there would be a two seated swing. For those nights when it's not too cold and not too hot. We would sit there and watch the sun go down."

Wendy listened quietly before turning her chin up towards Lana's gaze. "Tell me about the children."

A knot formed in Lana's throat, and she brought a smile to her lips. She blinked several times before finding her voice.

"There will be two of them," she added softly, gently scratching her fingernails along the soft skin on Wendy's arm. "Do you remember the names we talked about?"

Wendy nodded, moving her face into Lana's hold. "Elizabeth Christine and Charles Edward. I remember."

"Yes," Lana found it difficult to speak suddenly, "Elizabeth would come first. Beth. You could carry her. She would have dark eyes and hair, and your crooked little grin. She would love painting, and horseback riding. She would always bring home some kind of animal that she would ask to keep and take care of. She would grow up wanting to be a veterenarian."

Lana could feel Wendy's smile press against her. "Tell me about Charles."

"Baby Charlie," Lana spoke softly, "The same dark hair and dark eyes as his older sister. Charlie would have a heart of gold. A heart that never stopped loving or accepting. His passion would be in adventuring. He would build treehouses in that old oak in the backyard. He would go on pretend treasure hunts and come home with some old junk that he would swear would be worth something one day. In spite of his love of travel, I think he would realize that his true calling was to help other people. He might grow up to be a doctor. Maybe a teacher, like his mother."

"One of his mothers," Wendy added quietly, her voice low. "I think I'd want to be called Mommy. And you could be Mama. Would that be all right?"

Lana swallowed hard, clenching her teeth together before she spoke. "That would be wonderful, darling."

Wendy settled against her, eyes closed and breathing steady. Lana's fingers continued to stroke her lover's hair, skin, face. She loved these quiet, intimate moments between them that weren't initiated by lust or arousal, just a need to be as close to the other as humanly possible. There were no words between them for several moments and Lana took the opportunity to blink away the moisture forming in her eyes. As much as she loved these soft, private discussions, she also resented them. Wendy was such a dreamer. Working with eight-year-olds on a daily basis did that to a person. When she wanted something, she dreamed about it and wished for it with all her heart while holding onto the childish belief that it was possible so long as you wanted it enough. In her mind, Wendy lived in a world of crayola skies and wishes-upon-a-star. She was just waiting for the world to catch up with her.

Lana was more of a realist. In her job as a journalist, she saw the real world on a daily basis. She knew how cruel the world could be, or how cruel the world was, especially to people who didn't fall into the accepted stereotypes of society. She knew in her heart that there would never be a white picket fence, that Elizabeth Christine and Charles Edward would never exist. They were just stories whispered between the two of them, dreams that Lana knew would never come true. There would never be a house full of children that the two of them had raised together, as a family. Society would never allow it, or accept it. All there could be was the two of them, and that was only if they managed to keep their love hidden behind closed blinds and locked doors, their words of passion whispered and only when they were alone.

Upon feeling the full weight of her partner upon her, she recognized the sounds of Wendy's quiet breath as she slept. There was little more than a soft grunt from the woman as Lana shifted out from under her, stepped onto the bedroom floor and adjusted the sheets back around her girlfriend. Slipping into a silk robe and closing the bedroom door behind her, she slipped down the hallway and into the sitting room. Lana grabbed a pencil and her pad of paper from her purse and slid onto the couch. She reached for a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag before finally opening the notepad.

"Hot fucking Mulled Cider," she grumbled, her eyes scanning over the scant recipe that her editor had placed her in charge of preparing for the paper tomorrow. "Who gives a shit about Hot Mulled Cider? No one, that's who." Sighing, she shut the notepad, sending it sliding across the couch where it came to a rest. She pulled her legs up beneath her on the couch, took another long drag of her cigarette and reached behind her, fiddling with the radio knob until the static disappeared and the sound of nightly news began to filter through to her living room.

"...reportedly have taken the killer into custody. He is currently being held at Briarcliff Mental Institution pending psychological tests that will determine his placement of correctional facility. Kit Walker, reportedly going by the moniker Bloody Face, has been accused of murdering several women, including his own wife, Alma Walker. Walker was apprehended earlier this evening by state police who found him in a state of confusion and dysphoria. Upon arrest, Walker claimed that he and his wife had been abducted by extraterrestrials..."

Lana tilted her head, straightening her posture as the newscast went on. She had heard of this man, this Bloody Face. Of course it was just a crude nickname that the media had given the murderer on account of the disturbing mask he reportedly wore. Crude nickname or not, however, the murders and word of his capture were _huge_ news. News that she absolutely knew she needed to be involved in. If she could convince her editor to let her cover his capture, there would be no doubt that she'd be on her way to a Pulitzer. _Time, Look, _every reputable news magazine would be clamoring to interview her for a spot in their publication. The reporter who had covered the case of the most infamous serial killer on the east coast to date would be a hot item. More importantly, the _woman _who had covered the case. It would not only open doors for Lana, but for every woman attempting to break into a male dominated society. Aside from that, it would make Wendy proud. She could already visualize the proud grin slipping across her lips. She would wear that green dress to the award ceremony; the one that hugged her hips just so. Lana would have to resist the urge to unzip the back and sneak into the restroom with her all evening.

The newscast went on, but Lana had already stopped listening. She leaned back onto the couch again, taking another long drag of her cigarette before grinding the stub into an ash tray. She felt a smile creeping onto her face and took a deep breath to calm herself. Yes, tomorrow, she would march into her editor's office and _demand_ to cover this story. She had been covering household items for far too long. She was too damn good to waste her talent on recipes and cleaning tips. She would absolutely not take _no_ for an answer.

After tomorrow, she knew that her life would change forever. From now on, things were going to be on _her_ terms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I Own Nothing **

**Spoilers: None**

* * *

"I'm sorry, Miss Winters, the answer is a simple but resounding no."

Lana's fingers grasped the edges of her notepad, her legs pressed tightly together and her back straight in the chair.

"Sir, I have to ask you to reconsider," she tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but it was difficult considering she knew she was fighting a losing battle at this point. "Please."

"And why should I reconsider?" The man sitting at the desk opposite of her slid a pair of bifocals onto his nose and began to rifle through the papers before him.

"Mr. Emmerman, this story is going to be _big_," she tried to reason, continually looking from the papers he was shuffling to his face. Annoyance flushed in her cheeks as he continued to avoid making direct eye contact with her.

"It's not _going_ to be big," the man sighed, "It _is_ big. We'll have someone cover it, but it won't be you. You'll be sticking with what you're best at-"

"Why?" She demanded suddenly, and he glanced up at her, startled at her sudden tone of voice. She swallowed, quiet for a moment. "I just don't understand. I haven't written anything but cooking stories and cleaning tips since I started here. I haven't even had a chance to prove what else I can do."

"So stick with what you're good at," came the man's reply, "It's safe in cooking. The worst you can do is burn a pot roast."

"I don't _want_ to be safe!" She moved closer to the desk, placing her hands flat on the solid oak panel. "Please, sir, I want to-"

"Miss Winters," he cut her off suddenly, setting his papers aside and finally meeting her eyes. "Listen to me. This guy, this _Bloody Face_; he's dangerous. He kills women, decapitates them, and does God-knows-what with their bodies. I know you've got aspirations, but you'll be no good to me or anyone else if your head is on some guy's fireplace mantel."

Lana sat back, her eyes widening at the frankness of his words. The man shook his head.

"I don't mean to scare you, but we've got to use caution in this case. Once he's safely settled into his cell or _whatever_ he's in at this Briarcliff, we'll send a _man_ down to interview him. Only then will we start the story. When it's safe." He raised his eyebrows at her. "I'm not fighting you on this one, Miss Winters. There's no room for discussion. We're already understaffed as it is. I can't afford to lose anyone here to that..._monster_."

Lana remained silent, biting the inside of her lip. She had to remain calm. She needed this job, and couldn't afford to go flying off the handle at her boss.

"Have I made myself clear?" He questioned her, glancing at her momentarily before returning to his papers.

"Yes," Lana nodded, waiting for a moment before he made a shooing motion with his hand. She stood from the chair, flattened the wrinkles from the front of her dress and made her way out of the office, pulling the door shut behind her. She let out a frustrated sigh as she pushed through the busy work room, narrowly avoiding having a cup of steaming coffee spilled onto her. She made her way to her desk, sinking into the chair and resting her elbows on the surface, holding her head in her hands. Things obviously hadn't worked out according to the plan she'd devised. That was okay. That was fine. She'd come up against obstacles before and had always overcome them. It was just a minor setback.

The only problem was, she had no idea how she'd get around this. She'd worked under her editor long enough to know that when he made his mind up, there was no changing it. She understood his concern, but he didn't know Lana well enough. She wasn't some damsel in distress that would faint at the thought of coming up against danger. She could take care of herself pretty damn well. It was true that the things Bloody Face was accused of doing to his victims were horrific and terrifying, but the man was now in custody. Locked behind bars and probably restrained in a straight jacket. The only person this _man_, if you could call him that, was a danger to now was himself.

Disappointed and frustrated, she picked up the reciever of the phone cradled on her desk. Using her fingers to turn the rotary wheel, she rang the familiar number and held the reciever to her ear, quietly hoping for an answer. After three rings, the connection was made and a sweet voice greeted her.

"Hello?"

"It's me," she greeted her lover quietly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. It was their custom not to use each other's names over the phone in public, lest someone overhear them. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Wendy replied. "I called the school and told them I'd be back to work tomorrow." Lana could hear the soft smile on her lips. It was instinct between them to break into a grin at the sound of the other's voice, no matter how bad either of their days had been. "I drank that tea you made me this morning. It was warm, but...don't open your own coffeeshop, baby."

A blush crept into Lana's face at the pet name. She clutched the reciever tighter and glanced conspiratorily around her. No one was paying attention to her call, but it still made her somewhat uneasy. The sound of typewriters would undoubtedly drown out any trace of their conversation, though she had learned never to be too careful with their relationship.

"I'm at work," she spoke into the phone quietly. She knew that Wendy would immediately understand what she was conveying to her. They had both agreed to keep their conversations anything but personal or intimate while not at home.

"Oh. I'm sorry," she replied softly, "I thought you might be at lunch."

"I'm afraid not." Lana curled the cord around her fingers for a moment, biting on the inside of her lip. "I just finished talking to you-know-who."

"And? How did it go?" Wendy's voice sounded so far away. She heard a slight clinking in the background, which probably meant that she was attempting to clean up the kitchen. The thought made her smile in spite of herself. Wendy loved playing the role of domestic housewife, even after she worked all day or, in this case, when she was sick. She wasn't very capable of doing laundry or even making the bed, but the fact that she put out the effort at all meant the world to Lana.

"Not very well," the disappointment was evident in Lana's voice. "Emmerman basically gave me every excuse in the book." In the quiet she heard Wendy's sigh on the other end of the line. "But I'm not stopping there. I'm going to figure something out. But I have to do it soon; otherwise someone will get there first and this will all be for naught."

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out," Wendy responded. They had discussed the news this morning before Lana had left for work and, as always, Wendy had been full of optimism and promise. She had enough unwavering faith in Lana for the both of them, just as she always had. "What are you going to do from here?"

"I don't know," her response came truthfully. "All I know is that I can't write another week's worth of tips about how to get the shiniest appliances." There was a silence on the line as both of them considered her words.

"I know, Lana. I know you're better than that. And you'll prove it to them, too. It will just take some time." As always, a shining beacon of hope.

"You're right." Lana sighed. "I'd better go and try to finish up this next set of articles, then. I just wanted to let you know how it went."

"Okay," came the quiet reply. "I'll see you tonight." Lana had just opened her mouth to respond when the next words came, "I love you, Lana."

Lana was certainly surprised at the declaration. It wasn't that they hadn't said the words to each other; they did so on a regular basis. They simply didn't say them unless they were in their own home; blinds down, doors shut. Never in public, not even over a semi-reliable connection. She was so taken aback by the words that she was quiet for several seconds, unable to make a sound.

"Lana?" Wendy's voice came again, "Are you there?"

"I..." she stuttered, "I'm here. You too, okay? I'll see you later." She placed the reciever in the cradle before Wendy had a chance to mutter another word. She felt awful, but her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure everyone in the work room could hear it. Of course, no one was paying a cent of attention to her. It was only in her imagination that their eyes had all looked to her as soon as Wendy had uttered those three words. Only in her imagination were they judging her, hating her for what they knew she was.

The rest of the day dragged by. Lana skipped lunch, hoping to work straight through and figure out a solution to her dillema. By the time five o'clock came around, she was no closer to getting into Briarcliff and was therefore more frustrated than she had been earlier in the day.

She punched out at the timeclock, walked to her car in the parking lot and drove home, chiding herself the entire way. She should have fought harder. She should have refused to leave the office until someone gave into her demands and allowed her to write something of substance. Pulling up to the curb, she realized how absurd it all sounded. She felt like a five-year-old child throwing a tantrum about a toy she didn't get. But it was more than that. Her career was her life right now. Aside from Wendy, it was all she had. Success in her career was just something that she wasn't willing to sacrifice.

Upon reaching the front door of their house, she barely had time to put the key into the lock before it slid open. Wendy stood in front of the door, grinning and holding a glass of red wine.

"Hi," she greeted quietly. She leaned closer for a kiss and then hesitated for a moment before pulling away. "I'm glad you're home."

_Home_. That was a word Lana doubted she'd ever be able to use concerning another woman. Until she had met Wendy a few years ago, she was certain she would spend the rest of her life living in a tiny apartment alone; that could hardly be considered a home. Coming back from a long day at work to nothing but silence. No warmth, no love. Now she looked forward to the end of the day, if only just to see that crooked grin and know that she was wanted and welcome here. Two queens locked safely inside their castle.

Lana smiled at her, shrugging out of her coat and shutting the front door behind her. She tucked her coat and purse into the closet by the entrance of the house and then locked the front door. Glancing around, she was pleasantly surprised to see the curtains already drawn and a table set for two. A candle flickered in the middle of the two empty place settings. Lana tilted her head toward Wendy.

"What's this?" She wondered, as Wendy slid the wine glass into her hand and placed her own hand on the small of Lana's back, ushering her to the table.

"I know you had a bad day, so I made dinner," she explained gently, pulling out one chair and gesturing for Lana to sit. "Besides, your cooking is awful."

Lana giggled softly, taking a sip of the blush-colored wine. It was sweet on her lips and tickled her throat going down. She placed the wine glass on the table as Wendy rushed into the kitchen and returned a moment later, carrying a casserole dish with two oven mitts.

"It's not much," she confided, sitting the dish on the table and spooning a serving onto Lana's plate, "But you know I'm not much of a cook either. I'm kind of a one-trick pony."

Lana picked up her fork and shook her head.

"You've got plenty of tricks. Just not in the kitchen." She winked playfully at her lover before taking a bite of her dinner.

Wendy watched her quietly from across the table after she had settled into her own seat. "Tell me about your day."

"Well it didn't get better," Lana assured her. "I've spent the entire day trying to come up with something. At this point, all I've got is a headache."

Wendy chewed quietly for a moment, considering her girlfriend. When their eyes met, she smiled gently.

"I may have come up with something."

Lana perked an eyebrow at the other woman, placing her fork on the table.

"What do you mean? How?"

Wendy leaned forward in her seat, her voice taking on a hushed tone despite the fact that they were alone.

"Well, after you called me this morning, I did some thinking and I made a call to Janice, you know the librarian at my school? I asked her if she could look up a little something for me, and she called me back a few hours later..." Wendy disappeared for a moment into the kitchen and returned quickly, carrying a piece of paper in her hand. Instead of taking her seat again, she kneeled in front of Lana, offering the note to her.

Lana cocked her head a little and narrowed her eyes at the other woman before taking the piece of paper. Her gaze scanned the note before looking back at her girlfriend.

"Wendy..." she read the neat writing again, just to be sure. She was suddenly out of the chair, grabbing Wendy's hand and bringing her to her feet. Lana's arms wrapped tightly around her lover, squeezing her before releasing her grip and pulling back to look at her face. Wendy's lips had split into that smile Lana loved; her eyes looked bright and happy. Without hesitation, Lana placed a quick kiss on Wendy's lips before glancing at the paper again. "How did I not think of this? You're a genius!"

"No, I'm..." Wendy's face turned crimson as she reached for Lana, "I just remembered hearing about it from some of the other teachers at school. Apparently the bakery at Briarcliff has been around for a couple of years. Sometimes the faculty orders the molasses bread and... well, as soon as she mentioned it, I thought you would be able to figure something out."

"Figure something out? Are you kidding?" Lana laughed, "This is perfect! Wendy..." her voice lowered as she moved her face closer to the other woman's, "You just got me into the front door of Briarcliff! All I have to do is tell Emmerman that I want to do a piece on the bakery and I'll have his blessing!"

"And if you don't?" Wendy dared to ask.

"I'll do it with or without his support," Lana responded without hesitation, "I've got a way in. I'll figure out the rest."

Wendy watched her, grinning, as Lana read the slip of paper over again. It was only a basic description of the bakery; the kinds of goods they made and a brief history, but Lana was as fascinated by it as the Sisters at Briarcliff would be with the Holy Shroud.

"Are you happy?" Wendy asked hopefully, her face flushed from the wine. Lana met her gaze, her hand coming up to caress Wendy's cheek.

"I'm ecstatic," she grinned, then shook her head in disbelief, "Thank you, Wendy. I...I don't know what to say."

Wendy shrugged, moving closer to Lana and taking her hands.

"Let's start with this: I love you."

Lana grinned, squeezing the soft hands in her own.

"I love you. Thank you." She moved to place another kiss on her lips just as Wendy caught hers, keeping her in the embrace for another moment. When they pulled apart, Wendy took the slip of paper from Lana's hand and placed it on the table, pulling her girlfriend close once again.

"I'm sorry about today," she confessed quietly, "I wasn't thinking. I hope it didn't cause any problems for you. I just... I just felt like I had to say it."

Lana shook her head, "No. I'm sorry. Believe me, baby, I wanted to say it too. More than anything in the world. But..." her words faded, but there was no need to continue. They both knew what would come after. _But_ no one would understand. _But_ I'd be fired. The list went on, each possibility more grave than the next.

Lana slid her arm down her girlfriend's body, slipping it around her waist and pulling her closer. "Forget about the 'buts' right now. The only people in the world are you and me."

Their lips met in a crushing kiss, bodies pressed against each other desperately. Lana's fingertips found Wendy's forearms and she traced her fingernails over the soft, pale skin. The kiss ended with a quiet sigh from Wendy as they parted.

"Let's go to bed," Wendy suggested, almost shyly. Lana grinned before looking back at the table.

"But, your dinner..."

"What about it?" Wendy wondered quietly, "There's only one thing I'm hungry for right now, and it's not food."

They were upon each other again, making their way to their bedroom in a flurry of clothes being tossed to the floor. They had barely made it past the doorframe of their room when they began pushing themselves out of the few remaining articles they wore. Once Lana's bare skin brushed against Wendy's, the stress of the day and the thoughts of work had fled her mind. At that moment, she didn't care about Bloody Face or Briarcliff. All she cared about was catching those sweet lips in a kiss and running her fingers over the soft curves of Wendy's body.

Lana left a trail of kisses along Wendy's collarbone, her fingers tracing her lover's sharp hip bones before allowing her fingers to slip further down her body. She caught Wendy's lips in a kiss as she let out a soft moan in response to the work her fingers were doing.

They fell together onto the bed, lips and hands upon the other's body. Quiet, whispered words of passion became the soundtrack to their lovemaking as they fought so desperately to banish the rest of the world from their thoughts. The universe existed only in their bedroom; the soft sighs that fell from their lips and the pleasure coarsing through their veins was the very essence of life.

Afterward, as they fell into a gentle stupor of exhaustion and contentedness, Lana slipped her fingers into Wendy's palm and whispered to the girl whose eyelids were already starting to droop.

"I don't know how I could ever live without you, Wendy Peyser."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

Lana had seen Briarcliff from the outside many times, but never had stepped foot into the towering building. It wasn't until after she was approached and led inside by a young nun that she got her first look at the interior of the building. The architecture was incredible, and she paused, taking a moment to raise her eyes to the cathedral ceiling that came to a peak beneath a looming skylight. A massive spiral staircase circled around the middle of the lobby, leading to several floors where both residents and workers wandered. It would almost have been beautiful, had it not been for the dark vibe and otherwise unnerving atmosphere that encompassed the entire structure.

Making her way up the stairs, she couldn't help but glance at some of the patients. There were men and women who were moaning and crying out helplessly, being led to an unknown destination by men in white uniforms. None of the patients looked like they had any idea where they were, what they were doing, or why they were trapped in this institution.

She followed the young nun up the spiraling staircase and into a room where an older nun stood, shaving a young woman's blonde hair from her head. From the brief interaction between the two Sisters, Lana could easily confirm that the younger nun was terrified of the elder. As the woman dismissed the half-shaven blonde from her office, Lana stood awkwardly until she was instructed to sit.

"What's your name?" The woman demanded, and Lana hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"Lana Winters," she smiled, tried not to allow her tongue to tie in knots at such a simple response. The key to these Type-A people, she knew, was never to let your guard down. If they thought for one second that they had any sort of advantage over you, control of the situation was lost. "And you are?"

The older woman's piercing eyes met hers.

"Sister Jude," she responded coldly, "You're here to do a story on our bakery?"

"I am," Lana nodded quickly, "I just love that molasses bread. I have it every morning with a cup of tea for breakfast." Lies.

Sister Jude nodded just slightly, keeping her eyes on Lana.

"Well, let's see what I can tell you about the bakery. We opened it a few years ago. Before that, things were different. There was no joy in this place."

Lana blinked. "And there is now? Sister, these halls are filled with haunted screams. I don't see the joy in any of this."

Sister Jude's dark eyes fixed on Lana's. Lana stared back. She was determined not to let this woman win. She had no leverage over her. She didn't even know her. She'd been intimidated by bigger and badder than an older woman in a habit.

"You've no right to judge what goes on in this place," Sister Jude spit the words at her, "You've been inside for less than five minutes. You have no idea how tormented some of these souls are."

"Tormented, yes, but how will they benefit from wandering aimlessly around this dark building? You should have structured therapy, activities to help them work through their issues. And shaving that woman's head? Unless you're attempting to control the head lice population, I don't exactly see the sense it makes." Lana's breath was heavy as she spoke. She knew she was pushing the boundaries of her welcome visit. She knew she had no right to say the things she said, but she couldn't help herself. She felt a sudden urge of righteousness and social justice for the things she had the power to expose to the world beyond Briarcliff.

Sister Jude's eyes narrowed and darkened. Her bony fingers clutched the edge of the desk in the center of the room, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to calm herself before speaking.

"You'll leave now," she stated simply, turning her back on Lana and retreating to the rear of the room. Lana stood from her seat.

"I haven't gotten any information for my story," she protested quietly.

"You're not here to do a story on our bakery. You came here with ill-intent in your heart and I'll see to it that you'll never step foot inside these walls again. Now, out with you."

Lana's cheeks grew hot from anger and embarrassment, and she cleared her throat.

"I want to see Bloody Face," she said the words desperately, as if they were a secret passcode that would allow her to stay in the good graces of this woman, "I need to. People need to know why he did what he did, they deserve to know."

Sister Jude kept her back to Lana.

"I'll not have you interacting with any of our patients. You'll kindly remove yourself before I have our security guard do so forcefully."

Lana stood, unmoving for a moment. Sister Jude turned, eyes focused on her before pointedly reaching for the phone on her desk as a warning.

"All right, I'm leaving," Lana sighed. She clutched her notepad and turned, her heels clicking on the floors as she walked. She kept her head up, a firm look of determination across her face, but her mind was spinning. She felt foolish and ignorant for assuming it would be so easy to gain access to one of the most prolific serial killers of her time. Had she really thought she'd be able to waltz in, sniff around, and dig up enough information to make herself a prominent journalist?

She took her time making her way down the hall, allowing her eyes to rake over every detail of the building. She wanted to be able to remember these things so that, when the time came, she'd be able to blow the lid off of Briarcliff and her career.

She descended the spiraling staircase, her fingers tracing the banister, her eyes raising towards that glass ceiling again. It felt so symbolic, standing in a world of despair with the sky literally just above you, separated only by a thin piece of glass that you didn't realize was there until you were up against it. This must be how the patients in this place felt. Sure, there were patients who would be here because it was necessary; the ones with legitimate mental illnesses who needed around-the-clock care, but she'd heard of the horrors of these places. There were families who didn't know how to handle a sudden and unexpected diagnoses of mental disorder, who sent their family members here. There were probably people who were just as normal as her in this institution.

By the time she reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, she was cursing herself and her bad luck. If only she could have controlled herself long enough to find out more about the bakery, and in turn, more about Briarcliff, she might be speaking to the head doctors rather than trudging her way out of the lobby.

She hesitated at the end of the staircase for just a moment, glancing to the right of her, which was the front entrance to the asylum, and to the left of her, which led into a corridor lined with doors. There was one security guard near the front entrance, but he was preoccupied with the unlit cigarette in his mouth, dragging his match across the strike strip futily. Lana studied him for a moment before making a quick left, walking briskly toward the door-lined corridor in an attempt to make herself look casual. She could be anyone at this point; a visitor to see a patient, a doctor, anything. If she could make it through and into the innards of the building, she might have a few minutes before anyone stopped to question her.

She moved quickly and reached the corridor within a matter of seconds, pausing just around a corner and taking a moment to hold her breath and listen. She didn't hear any footsteps approaching, nor did she hear any scuffle that would cause her to believe she had been spotted. After another moment, she released her breath, took a few quiet steps and peeked into one of the open doors.

It appeared to be an office, albeit an empty one. A desk, organized with papers and photos, sat in the middle of the room. Two chairs sat in front of it. She continued on down the hallway, her eyes tracing over the closed doors. Several of the doors held plaques with a name and initials immediately afterward. PhD, D.S.W., L.C.S.W., and the last one read simply: Oliver Thredson, M.D.

Splendid. She had simply wandered into a hallway filled with offices. She turned around begrudgingly, preparing for what would need to be a casual trek back through the lobby. She could pretend she was lost and looking for the exit, but it made her feel foolish, that her career had come down to pretending to look for directions.

Sighing to herself, she took a step when she heard a voice. More importantly, a name.

Kit Walker. Her mind began to race. She'd heard it before, not long ago. On the radio. Kit Walker. Bloody Face.

She paused mid-step, then immediately pressed her ear to the door. There were two voices, both clearly male. She felt her heart begin to pound as she pushed herself closer to the closed barrier, straining to hear anything other than one word amongst a plethora of mumbles. Raised voices. It sounded almost as if one of the individuals was shouting as the other's voice remained calm. She swore under her breath, wishing there was another way to hear what was taking place beyond the door frame.

She listened for another moment until there was a lull, and the sound of chairs being moved. She straightened herself immediately into a standing position and hurried back out of the hallway, towards the lobby. Lana perched at the turn of the hallway, holding her breath and watching, waiting.

A moment later, she heard footsteps. The first man she saw was young, probably in his early to mid-twenties. He had dirty blonde hair and wore a blue denim shirt with navy pants. She thought for a moment that this boy was merely a child; perhaps he was the son of one of Bloody Face's victims who had come to plead for vengeance against his mother's murderer. But, no. Immediately after the baby-faced young man came an orderly, his eyes fixed resolutely on the younger man as he stayed close behind him.

This fresh-faced boy was no child; he was a monster. Bloody Face himself. Lana tried to avert her gaze as he passed her, but he caught her eye, and there was a moment of silence as they studied each other. Chills raced through her body as he watched her, and she wanted nothing more than to be away from him in that moment, despite the fact that she had literally tracked him down.

Their brief interaction lasted only a moment before Kit Walker was led away, through the lobby and down another hallway through a large set of doors. She stood still in her spot, her heart racing. She wanted to smile, but knew it was absurd. She'd at least seen him. That was more than any of the other reporters would be able to say. The strange encounter had left her with renewed confidence, and she vowed to herself that she _would_ be able to figure out a way back into Briarcliff. She would meet Walker face-to-face, and she'd get that interview. She deserved it.

She had almost walked away when she heard another set of footsteps approaching her from the same hallway. Rather than retreating, she took a step forward and was met with a tall man, dark hair styled back with grease, wearing a suit and a large pair of Ronsir eyeglasses. The sight of her obviously caught him off guard and he doubled back, his eyes widening at the sight of her. He caught her gaze for only a second and then blinked quickly.

"Excuse me," Lana spoke quickly, desperate to catch him before he slipped away, "My name is Lana Winters, I'm a reporter with The Boston Globe and I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time? Are you Dr. Oliver Thredson?"

He stared at her for a moment, and shook his head.

"I-" his voice was scratchy, and he cleared his throat, "Yes, I'm Dr. Thredson."

She smiled then, her lips parting to reveal her lovely white teeth. He stared at her for another moment and then looked away, wetting his lips with his tongue.

"Could I have a few minutes of your time?" She repeated, attempting to keep her voice from breaking into the plea of desperation she felt coming. "Please, sir. I'm trying to find out anything I can about Bloody- about Kit Walker."

There was another silence between them as he studied her face briefly. He looked away again, and she saw his Adam's Apple bulge as he swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Winters, I-"

"Oh, please?" She asked again, reaching out for him without fully realizing it. Her hand fell onto his wrist and he glanced down at it in shock, his lips parting slightly as he jerked away from her. Her eyes met his as he took a step away from her, his hands extended in front of him almost in a gesture of submission.

"I can't, I'm afraid, Miss Winters." He was gone in another moment, and Lana stood, still watching the spot where he had just stood. He disappeared through the same large doors that Kit Walker had gone through, and she fought the urge to follow him. She'd already introduced herself as a reporter, and if the doctor reported her, she'd be escorted out or worse.

Lana spent no more than a few more moments in the asylum before making her way out. She didn't want to draw attention to herself, especially after being known to both Sister Jude and the head psychiatrist. She returned to her car and sat for a moment, long fingers gripping the steering wheel, her mind racing.

By the time she drove home, Wendy was already there. She was on the couch, papers splayed around her and a red pen in her hand. She glanced up and smiled when she saw Lana.

"Hi, baby!" She emerged from beneath the pile of ungraded papers and crossed the room to her lover, placing a quick peck on her cheek. Lana tried not to notice that Wendy's eyes scanned the blinds first, just to make sure they weren't open. "How did it go?"

Lana sighed, slipping out of her light coat and allowing Wendy to take it from her. She had spent the ride home trying to put things into perspective, but she had ended up just feeling worse about the entire situation. Yes, she'd seen Bloody Face, but she hadn't even been close enough to him to warrant a passing comment. And she'd spoken to a doctor who may or may not have been his psychiatrist. She'd spent the last several days of her life consumed with the thoughts of a dream she was no closer to accomplishing.

Rather than words escaping her, a sudden and sharp sob slipped from Lana's throat. Wendy looked surprised at first, and then disappointed as she slipped her arms around her lover, fingers tracing the skin on her arms.

"Lana," Wendy spoke softly, as the other woman's eyes burned with unreleased tears of frustration. "Was it that bad?"

Lana shook her head, fighting the tears that were already threatening to slip down her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes angrily, but Wendy kept hold of her.

"Come on, tell me about it," Wendy urged her as she led her girlfriend to the couch, pushing aside the sloppily written papers that Wendy had only half-finished grading and helping Lana sit down.

"Oh," Lana sniffed as the tears burned her eyes, "I just feel so foolish. I walked in there feeling like I owned the place and barely avoided being escorted out by an officer." Lana was quiet for a moment before the tears came. She felt her body preparing to be wracked by a sob and buried her head in her hands. Wendy's fingers slipped into Lana's hair, gently touching the dark strands.

"You've been denied interviews before, sweetheart. What's so different this time? Why are you taking it so hard?" She asked the questions gently, pushing herself closer to Lana.

"I just-" Lana sobbed, followed by a shudder, "I just really care about this. I want to- I want to be the one who breaks this. It's _important_ to me."

Wendy hushed her quietly, pulling her head down into her lap.

"I'm sorry," she soothed, her fingers stroking Lana's dark hair. "I wish I could help you."

"Oh, you did help," Lana whimpered softly, sniffling. "I wouldn't have gotten in there without you. I'm sorry, Wendy. You know how I get, I can't help myself when I-"

"When you get so passionate about something, I know," Wendy smirked, "That's one of the many things I love about you, Lana." Her fingers continued to pet Lana's head comfortingly. "You'll be okay. I know this is important to you, but things happen for a reason. Maybe you weren't supposed to have that story, baby."

Lana blinked, tears blurring her vision. She knew Wendy was trying to comfort her, but this was about more than _her_. This was supposed to be about obtaining justice for those people; the victims of Kit Walker and the ones stuck in Briarcliff. She had already taken it upon herself to be their martyr.

They sat in silence for a while, Wendy's fingers lovingly tracing over Lana. Lana's tears dried, her shudders subsided, but she remained with her head in Wendy's lap, her slim legs pulled up beneath her. Wendy had scattered her papers around them, and even now, after the tears had gone, she hadn't made a single move to reach for them; her attention was focused solely on Lana. It felt wonderful, being able to lay here like this without having to worry about someone seeing her in her moment of vulnerability. In her current state of placidity, her eyes slid closed just for a moment.

The ringing of the phone pulled her back to the living room and she stretched, blinking sleepily. Her work clothes were still on, and Wendy had moved her papers to the coffee table, along with a cup of coffee. Lana squinted into the light, groaning softly as she pulled her head up. Wendy had already made her way to the telephone and Lana glanced at the clock on the wall above the mantel. The hands pointed to ten thirteen.

She heard Wendy speaking into the receiver, and Lana let her eyes close for another moment. How had she fallen asleep for so long, nearly four hours? She must have been more tired than she realized. She had just rested back on the couch with her arm thrown over her forehead when she heard Wendy's voice.

"Lana?" She spoke softly, holding the phone against her chest, "The phone is for you. It's a man."

Lana's fingers parted just enough to peek at Wendy. "Probably Emmerman. Just tell him I'm sick and I'll see him tomorrow." The last thing she needed right now was to be checked up on by her asshole editor.

Wendy's pursed her lips and placed the receiver back to her ear.

"I'm sorry, sir. Lana isn't currently available. May I take a message?"

Lana twisted around on the couch, watching Wendy's face as she listened. Wendy's eyes moved to Lana's, and she nodded, holding the phone to her chest again.

"I don't think it's your editor, Lana. He said it's important." Wendy shrugged helplessly, holding the phone out to Lana. Lana groaned and pulled herself off the couch, moving over to the telephone stand and grasping the receiver. Wendy stepped back, her eyes still focused on her girlfriend.

"Hello?" Lana asked, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the line and then, "Miss Winters?"

"This is she," Lana confirmed, narrowing her eyes at Wendy, who mouthed 'who is it?' silently.

"Miss Winters, I wanted to apologize for our brief interaction today. I was taken slightly aback, and you caught me just in the middle of a busy day," came the male voice.

"Uh," Lana cocked her eyebrow at Wendy, "Okay." She hesitated for a moment, "I'm sorry, who is this, again?"

A soft, boy-like chuckle came from the other end of the line.

"My apologies. This is Dr. Oliver Thredson, Miss Winters. We met briefly today at Briarcliff Institution."

Lana grinned suddenly, widening her eyes at Wendy, who stood watching.

"Oh! Dr. Thredson, yes, I remember you. I hope I didn't take up too much of your time." Lana curled the phone cord around her finger, her eyes now fixed on a point past Wendy's head.

"Not at all, Miss Winters," came the reply. There was a moment of silence and then, "I hope you won't mind; I managed to speak with Sister Mary Eunice, who gave me your phone number. I wanted to apologize for my erratic behavior this afternoon. I'm afraid you caught me at a bad time."

"No need to apologize, Dr. Thredson," Lana returned, "Thank you for going out of your way to contact me." Maybe there was still hope for this story, somehow.

"Oh, uh..." the man on the line caught himself, "I'm also calling in regards to your request this afternoon. I understand you're interested in writing an article about one of my patients. Unfortunately, his information is confidential, so there isn't much I can do for you concerning securing you an interview."

"Oh," Lana's heart dropped again. She hurriedly pushed the disappointment from her voice and face, knowing Wendy was still watching and the doctor was listening. "I understand."

"However," he barely gave her time to finish her words, "I am the head of psychiatry at Briarcliff, and I may be able to work some time in this week to meet with you. I won't be able to discuss any of my clients, but I could certainly help you better understand the mind of a murderer in general. Might that be something you're interested in?"

Lana's mind was whirring. She didn't have the Bloody Face story, but she had an in. She would have access to possibly the greatest mind behind the asylum walls. If Dr. Thredson wouldn't be the person to help her understand Kit Walker's actions, no one would.

"Oh, yes, sir!" She grinned at Wendy, who returned the excited smile. "That would be wonderful, Doctor. Thank you very much."

Dr. Thredson chuckled on the other end of the line.

"After the commotion you caused with Sister Jude, she may not be so willing to have you back at Briarcliff any time soon. However, I would be willing to meet you at a different location, so long as I'm not with a patient. Would it be all right to contact you at a later date and time regarding a meeting time and place?"

Lana's heart thumped as she confirmed his response, thanked the doctor and said goodbye. She placed the receiver back in its cradle and looked up at Wendy, eyes shining.

"Dr. Thredson?" She quizzed, "Is he from Briarcliff?"

Lana nodded happily. "He said he couldn't tell me anything about Bloody Face, but he's willing to help me understand the motives behind the actions of someone like him."

Wendy's face broke into a grin and she reached for Lana, pulling her into a tight hug. Her fingers traced over her lover's back and down to her hips.

"That's great! I'm so happy for you, Lana. You really deserve this."

Lana pulled back, her hands resting on Wendy's hips. She was still smiling, eyes full of excitement.

"I'm going to do it, Wendy. For you. For us." She kissed Wendy's lips gently, "This will change everything for you and me."

"I know, baby," Wendy's crooked smile appeared, "And I'll be right here, supporting you the entire way."

Lana squealed happily, letting her mouth fall across Wendy's sharp jaw line and up to her ear.

"You may need to call in a substitute teacher for tomorrow morning," Lana whispered, breath hot in her ear, "because tonight, we're celebrating."


	4. Chapter 4

A special thank you to **zap-saidthelady** on tumblr for helping me out with this chapter!

* * *

Lana pulled into the vacant parking spot just in front of the building. Before shifting the car into park and pulling the keys from the ignition, she double- and triple-checked the piece of paper on which an address was hastily scrawled. The numbers and street sign matched up, and she studied her reflection in the rear view mirror. She untied the scarf on her head and pulled it off, glancing at her hair before grabbing her purse and slipping out of the car.

She approached the office building and stopped at the large glass doors encasing the entrance. She studied the call buttons for a moment, her eyes scanning the names of several different professionals listed in the building, though most of the name plaques were empty. The name she had been searching for was right where he'd told her it would be: Oliver Thredson, Psychiatrist: 205. She hesitated for just a moment, and then pressed the button next to the name. She stepped back, still staring at the call box and waiting for a response.

"Dr. Thredson," the tinny voice greeted. Lana blinked at the speaker.

"Uh, Dr. Thredson, it's Lana. Lana Winters, the reporter?"

There was a moment of silence and then a soft rustling on the other end.

"Good afternoon, Miss Winters. I-I'll be right down to let you in."

"Thank you," Lana responded dumbly, knowing that he had already left the intercom and that she was talking to dead air. She glanced around her, looking towards the door as she waited for the doctor to approach.

It was only a few seconds before he appeared, looking just as she had remembered him the previous week. His dark hair was still slicked back, glasses resting comfortably on his nose. He wore black slacks, a white shirt and a thin tie. He pushed the door open for her breathlessly.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Winters." He gestured with his hand for her to enter, and she stepped past him, turning to look at him once she had been admitted. "Did you have any trouble finding me?" He guided her further down the hallway and toward a set of stairs that led to his office.

"No," she replied, "I've been in this area several times to cover stories, so I had a general idea of where the building was."

When they reached the staircase, he hung back, allowing her to ascend before him.

"I'm afraid my office outside of Briarcliff isn't in the best of areas," his voice came from behind her, "It's part of the reason there's an electronic call system just outside. Better safe than sorry, as they say."

"It's a lovely building," Lana said as they approached the second floor landing, "Are there many other doctors here? It seemed as if most of the name spaces were blank."

"It's a relatively new building," he sighed as he joined Lana on the second floor, "Right this way, please."

She followed Dr. Thredson down a hallway lined with simple white doors. When they came to the door marked with his name and office number, he opened the door and stepped inside, holding the entrance open for her to join him.

She moved into the office and he kept behind her, gently shutting the door as she stood by. He led her into an adjacent room, complete with a small sitting area and a large desk. He turned to her, smiled brightly at her and gestured for her to sit, though not before helping her slip out of her coat and placing it on a hook behind the door. She thanked him quietly, took one of the chairs before her and crossed her legs. He came around to his side of the desk and sat, keeping eye contact with her.

"I'm glad you could make it," he smiled again.

"Well, thank you for having me," she returned the grin, "It's very gracious of you to take time out of your day to speak with me."

"It's not a problem, Miss Winters."

"Please, call me Lana," she shook her head, "Miss Winters is so formal. Just Lana."

He blinked and smiled softly.

"Lana," he repeated softly, "Lana it is."

She smiled again, reaching into her purse and pulling out her notepad. Her eyes scanned the wall behind his head, briefly reading over the various degrees and achievements framed in mahogany. He caught her gaze focused behind him and turned, looking at the wall himself.

"Your degrees are very impressive, Doctor." She caught his gaze, "Your patients are very lucky to be in the hands of someone as capable as you."

He turned back to her, his lips pressed into a small smile.

"That's very kind of you to say, Lana."

She returned a small smile, and raised her eyebrows.

"Shall we begin?" She asked him.

"I think, before we do, I should tell you of my experience and education. It may be helpful to you regarding your source information." He looked at her from beneath his glasses to see her nod. "I majored in biology at Boston University and from there went on to get my Master's and Doctorate degree in psychiatry. I spent four years in medical school and another three in residency. When I graduated, I was offered an position as an adjunct psychiatrist at Briarcliff Manor. From there, I operated my own practice in this building a few nights a week. Now, I'm the full-time psychiatrist at Briarcliff, but I keep this office because I have several patients who are not in the institution."

Lana's pencil worked quickly, using shorthand notes to keep up with the speed of his words. He paused, allowing her to finish her hurried writing. When she had completed, she looked up at him, her dark eyes smiling. She couldn't even try to hide the excitement she felt at being given this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. No other reporter in the Boston area had a one-on-one interview with Bloody Face's court-appointed psychiatrist.

"Do you have any questions for me before we get into the generalities you're curious about?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, leaning forward in her chair.

"What can you tell me about Briarcliff? What is it like inside those walls?" Her voice was low and tinted with enthusiasm.

He watched her for a moment, and she was afraid he'd start to rethink this whole thing, that maybe it wasn't a good idea for her to be here.

"It's dark," he confided in her at last, letting out a soft sigh. "And I don't mean the physical environment-yes, that, too, but- everything about the place radiates negativity. I try to bring a little light to my patients when I come in, but it's difficult, considering. Sister Jude plays that God-awful song over and over, and then they have what they call their 'therapies'. If you're not insane when you're admitted into Briarcliff, chances are you will be soon." He reached into his desk drawer, took out a cigarette and lighter. He slipped one cigarette into his mouth and offered another to Lana, who accepted. He flicked his lighter, first to light hers and then his. She sat back and took a breath before blowing the smoke from her mouth.

"What kinds of therapies?" She asked, narrowing her gaze at him.

He watched her for a moment, taking a long drag.

"Sister Jude would kill me if she knew I was spilling her secrets to the outside world," he released the smoke from his mouth, studying Lana, and then smiled softly before continuing, "There are several different types of therapies used in Briarcliff to attempt to cure patients. You have the standard medicinal therapy, as well as some sparingly offered group therapy sessions. But it's darker than that. Electroshock, hydrotherapy, aversion and conversion therapies. There's an endless list."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, her pencil pausing in its movement on her paper.

"Aversion and conversion?" She wondered aloud. "Meaning..."

"Meaning, there are people who believe a mental disorder can be cured or rectified by exposing a patient to whatever it is that's keeping them ill, and teaching them to be disgusted or repulsed by it. This, in turn, helps the patient convert to a different state of mind. In the same way that one might be sickened by the smell of food when they're nauseous."

"I'm not sure I understand," she admitted softly, "How do you expose a patient to a mental disorder, such as neurosis, and make them feel repulsed by it?"

"Aversion and conversion therapy are mostly intended for those patients with personality disturbances, such as... nymphomania, kleptomania... dare I say, even homosexuality." He kept his gaze on her.

She felt her throat constrict and she raised her chin, clenching her teeth.

"Homosexuality?" She couldn't help but ask, and then realized her mistake. She couldn't let these people get to her. She had known going into this assignment that her sexuality would be a taboo subject, and she would have to keep fighting to prove her worth despite what people thought of who she loved. "How do you feel about that, Dr. Thredson?"

He watched her for a moment before stubbing his cigarette out in the ash tray on his desk.

"I think it's barbaric," he stated finally. "I feel as though we've come far enough in the twentieth-century to realize that there are some things psychiatry cannot change. As far as the act of the therapy itself, it can be grueling. For everyone involved."

Lana felt the tension release in her body and she let out an inaudible sigh. There was a certain beauty in knowing that he wouldn't be on a witch hunt regarding her sexuality in the few sessions they had together. She took a moment to sit back in her chair as she took a few notes while he spoke about the power of a properly prescribed medication and the wonders of modern day psychiatry. As he finished, her eyes began to scan the walls and shelves of the office again. On a small table just to the side of his desk sat a small frame containing a black-and-white picture of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and eyes, no older than Lana herself. In the picture, the woman was staring just beyond the camera, her eyes focused on a point past the lens.

"Is that your wife?" Lana asked casually, nodding to the portrait. Dr. Thredson looked surprised for a moment and turned, smiling when he saw the photograph.

"No, I'm unmarried," his voice was quiet, his fingers gently brushed the glass that protected the photo. "That's my mother. I lost her when I was very young."

"Oh," Lana said quietly, watching his brief but touching interaction with the photograph. "I'm sorry to hear that. She would be very proud of you now, I'm sure."

He glanced up at her, his thumb still on the glass of the frame. His lips curved into a tiny smile.

"I certainly hope she is," he said quietly.

She smiled back at him, thinking nothing of it. For a moment she saw him as the child without a mother, playing pretend at a big desk in his father's suit. She felt a pang of sympathy for him suddenly, and wanted to tell him she knew how it felt to be without a mother; it was something that they had in common. She decided against it, though, and he smiled at her again.

"Now, where were we?"

They spent the better part of an hour-and-a-half discussing the basics of what he believed constituted insanity, the most up-to-date methods of assessing mental stability, and, much to Lana's relentlessness, some unclassified information the newspapers had reported from the Bloody Face murders. She scribbled everything into her notepad, which by now was filled with several pages of small writing. When they came near to the end of their allotted time, he stood and smiled at her again.

"I'll be happy to see you out, Lana, though before I do, would you excuse me for a just a moment?" She looked up at him, smiling. He gestured to the books on the shelf near his desk. "Please, feel free to browse through my library. There may be something of particular interest to your article." He excused himself before disappearing from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Lana rose from the chair, stepped to the bookshelf and began scanning the titles. She found one entitled _Science and Human Behavior_ by a name she'd remembered hearing about, B.F. Skinner, and slid it from the shelf, paging through the book. She had only had a minute to glance through the pages before the office door opened and again and Dr. Thredson stepped in, greeting her with a smile.

"I apologize for the delay. I'm anticipating a package and I thought I heard the door buzzer. I was mistaken." He slipped her coat off the door hook and offered it to her. "Shall we?"

As they made their way downstairs, Lana thanked him for his time and help.

"It's no problem at all," he assured her, "I hope you have enough to begin writing an article. We can certainly schedule another time to meet if you require it."

She grinned at him as he pushed the outside door open for her.

"I appreciate that very much, Doctor. I will certainly keep in touch." She stood for a moment before sighing. "Once again, thank you." She waggled her fingers at him in farewell and turned, walking towards her car. She could feel him watching her for just a moment, but then heard the front door click shut.

She sighed, slipping her hand into her purse to retrieve her keys and coming around to the driver's side of the car to open the door. She had just slid the key into the lock when she noticed something odd. The front of the car seemed to be sitting lower to the ground than the back half, and she stooped, looking at the tire.

The driver's side front tire had completely deflated, the car rested on the rim of the wheel. She swore quietly and glanced around. It certainly hadn't been flat when she'd arrived, that was a fact. Could she have driven over a sharp object without realizing it? She reached out to touch the rubber and immediately saw the source of the deflation: a long incision had been made into the tire, measuring nearly as long as her hand. It hadn't been an accident; someone had sliced through it.

She stood again, groaning. Now what? She didn't know how to change a tire; she knew she should, especially in her quest to be a modern-day woman, but she honestly had just never gotten around to learning. She stood for a minute, unsure of what to do next. She could walk to a payphone or a garage and call a tow truck, but she didn't see one anywhere nearby and wasn't sure if there even _was_ one nearby.

It took a moment before the realization occurred to her to use the doctor's phone. Clutching her purse again, she returned to the door and pressed the button connected to Thredson's office.

"Dr. Thredson," his voice greeted once again. Lana took a deep breath and let it out.

"Dr. Thredson, it's Lana Winters again. I'm sorry, my car has a flat tire. Is there a way I could use your phone to call for help?" She felt foolish at having to return to his office so quickly, but didn't have much of a choice.

"I'll be right down," he answered quickly and she stepped back again to wait. As with before, it only took him a moment to appear, though some of the strands of dark hair on his head had come loose and now were astray. He pushed the door open for her once again, tilting his head at her. "Flat tire?" He asked as she entered the building, "What do you think caused it?"

"To be honest, it looks as if it's been cut," she told him as he led her down the hallway. "I suppose you were right about this not being the best neighborhood."

He glanced back at her as they came to the stairs.

"Cut?" He repeated, eyebrows furrowed, "I'm sorry to hear that. Just be thankful you discovered it before you drove away. Who knows what may have happened with your tire like that?"

She pressed a smile to her lips, and then nodded.

"You're right, Dr. Thredson. I am thankful."

They approached his office and he motioned for her to use the phone.

"Take as long as you need. I'll just be out here going through some files." He smiled and she moved into the adjacent room, reaching for the phone receiver. She dialed in her home number and waited until Wendy answered.

"Hello?" the other woman's voice greeted, the sound of a record playing softly in the background.

"Wendy, it's me," Lana greeted her gently, "Listen, I'm all finished with my interview, but my car has a flat tire."

"Oh no," Wendy sighed, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm calling you to let you know that I'm okay, I'm just running a little late."

She heard Wendy smile on the other end. "I'm making dinner."

Lana smiled, too, and turned away from the door.

"I can't wait to see you," she confided quietly, "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Wendy responded. "Do you want me to call you a tow truck? I just want you home safe."

"Yes, please," Lana nodded, and rattled the address off to Wendy. "You know what kind of car it is. There's no way to miss it; it's sitting right in front of the curb with a huge gash in the driver's side front tire."

"A gash?" Wendy sounded concerned, "Someone did it on purpose?"

"It appears so, but this isn't exactly an ideal area. I don't think it was meant to be any sort of personal attack, Wendy." She knew where the other girl's mind immediately went. Anytime misfortune befell either of them, she couldn't stop herself from going to that dark place. If they became victims of road rage or even bad customer service, Wendy immediately assumed it was because of their sexuality, even though she didn't say it.

"I just worry about you," Wendy said after a moment, "I'm glad you're okay. I'll call the tow truck, but I'd rather you not stay there to wait for it. Will you call a taxi to bring you home?"

Lana promised she would and whispered a goodbye to her before placing the reciever in its cradle. She poked her head out the office door, catching a glimpse of Dr. Thredson, who was slipping into his suit coat.

"I just called my roommate," she informed him, "she's going to call a tow truck. I'm just going to call a taxi to bring me home and I'll be out of your hair."

"Nonsense," came his voice as she disappeared back into the office. "I'm leaving now. I'll drive you."

"Oh, Dr. Thredson," she began, "Please, that's not necessary. I don't mind calling a cab."

"And I don't mind driving you," he retorted, "And I'm not entirely sure you should be waiting outside by yourself right now. The sun is going down and I'm on my way home. It's not a problem."

Lana hesitated for only a moment, placed the phone back in its cradle and nodded.

"Well, all right then. Thank you again, Dr. Thredson."

He gathered his things, and helped her gather hers. He saw her out of the office and followed suit, closing and locking the door behind him before they headed for the stairs.

"I hope my house isn't too far out of your way," Lana told him as they descended the steps. "I'm sure you've had a very long day."

"It's very thoughtful of you to be concerned about me," he told her, leading her out the front door and into the parking lot where his car was located, "but I assure you I don't mind. Now, please, stop thanking me."

He shot her a teasing smile and she laughed quietly.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop."

He slid into the front seat of his car and unlocked Lana's door. She pulled it open and joined him in the front. She proceeded to tell him her address and he nodded, starting the car and pulling into traffic. There was a long silence between them as she gazed out the window, her fingers tapping her leg somewhat awkwardly.

"So, Lana, we've discussed my background, but you haven't told me anything about you," he glanced at her as he turned a corner. "Are you from the area?"

"I am," Lana nodded, "I grew up about fifteen miles outside of Boston. After high school, I attended Emmanuel College in Boston, where I considered becoming a teacher. It wasn't until two semesters in that I decided journalism was my true calling, and I switched my major."

"Emmanuel?" He repeated, "You didn't strike me as a religious person. Isn't Emmanuel College a primarily Catholic institution?"

"It is," she sighed after a moment, "That was at my parents' discretion. They sent me to an all-girls Catholic school, hoping it might sort me out. They said they had some trouble with me in high school."

"Trouble?" Dr. Thredson smiled over at her, "And what do your parents think of you, now that you're a successful writer?"

Lana cleared her throat, and focused on the road ahead of them.

"I no longer speak to them," she responded. There was no reply from him, though she noticed the way he glanced at her from time to time for the next several minutes.

By the time he pulled up to her house, a light rain had begun to fall and the sun was gone from the sky. He parked in front of the curb, and they both glanced toward the house. The blinds were open, of course, since Lana wasn't home, as was the front door. A cozy orange glow emenated from inside, and Lana couldn't help the smile that pressed across her lips. Home. It was truly everything she had ever wanted, and now she had it. She still couldn't quite believe it.

Just as she had glanced at the open door, Wendy appeared, her face shadowed from the light coming from behind her. Her arms were crossed and her eyes carefully searched the street. When she noticed the car, she stopped and looked.

"Is that your roommate?" Dr. Thredson asked her, and Lana nodded, smiling in the darkness.

"That's Wendy." She looked toward him, "Dr. Thredson, thank you again for the ride. I truly appreciate it. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time."

He sat, still watching her, a soft smile on his lips.

"Please, don't feel bad. There's no need."

Lana smiled softly, reaching for the car door handle. Her fingers clutched the lever and pulled, but the door didn't move.

"Oh! I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, pushing himself out of his seat and exiting the car. He appeared on the passenger side of the car, pulling the door open for her. "Sometimes this door won't open from the inside."

He offered her a hand and she accepted as he helped her step out of the car. Lana's eyes met the doorway of the house again and she saw the grin break across Wendy's face. More than anything, she wanted to hurry into the house and sweep her lover into a hug, but she also wanted to be gracious to the man who had helped her so much recently.

"Dr. Thredson..." she began, but he shook his head.

"Don't apologize any more, I mean it," he instructed her.

"Okay." She took a few steps without noticing that he had yet to move. She turned back a few seconds later, and he was still watching her from his spot on the sidewalk. Her heart was crying out for Wendy, but she felt guilty about leaving him standing this way, especially with the suspicion that he spent his evenings alone.

"Dr. Thredson?" She asked, just as he began to move around the car towards his door. He glanced up at her. "Would you like to stay for dinner? It's the least I could do, considering everything you've done for me today."

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, thank you, Lana. I appreciate it, but I really must be on my way." He made his way around to the driver's side of the car and pulled the door open. "I hope to see you again soon. It's a refreshing change of pace from being surrounded by stuffy medical professionals all day long."

She smiled at him, waggling her fingers.

"Goodbye, Dr. Thredson. I'll be in touch." She expected to hear his car start by the time she reached the front door, but when Wendy pushed the patio door open, all thoughts of the doctor had been pushed from her mind.

"Hi!" She nearly squealed as Wendy stepped aside, grinning.

"I'm so glad you're home," Wendy shook her head, then nodded toward the door. "Fancy taxi."

"Oh, that's not a taxi," Lana sighed, slipping her coat off and hanging it in the closet, "That's Dr. Thredson. He said he was on his way home, so he drove me."

"Hmm." Wendy glanced at the car outside thoughtfully before she closed the door. "Awfully nice of him." She quirked an eyebrow at Lana and slipped one arm around her waist. "Does he know you're taken?"

Lana grinned, unable to suppress the soft giggle that slipped out. God, whenever they were alone together, she felt like a school girl in love for the first time. She loved that feeling.

"Oh... are we a little jealous?" She wondered, slipping her arms around Wendy's waist.

"Maybe... just a little," Wendy helped up pinched fingers, smiling.

Lana giggled again, slipping a loose strand of hair behind Wendy's ear.

"Well, I can assure you that I have no romantic interest in him or any other man, Miss Peyser." She smiled gently, "And that's all you have to worry about." She ran a finger under her lover's chin. "Lana Winters can take care of herself."

Wendy smiled again, the playfulness in her eyes replaced with sweet sincerity.

"I know you can, baby," she replied quietly before placing a quick kiss on Lana's lips. There was a quiet moment of appreciation between them before Lana ruefully broke the embrace.

"I'm starving," she moaned, "What's for supper?"

"You're always starving," Wendy rolled her eyes playfully, disappeared behind a set of beaded curtains and into the kitchen before returning carrying two plates.

"Pot roast," she announced triumphantly, then glanced down at it as she placed it on the table. "It's been cooking since three. I hope it's done in the middle."

Lana slid into a chair and picked up a fork.

"At this point, I don't even care. It looks delicious."

Wendy poured them both healthy glasses of wine and then settled into the chair across from Lana.

"So, tell me about your day," Wendy looked up to her lover. "How was the interview?"

"It went well," Lana admitted between bites. She was suddenly ravenous. "Dr. Thredson is extremely intelligent, and kind. He's very professional, but when he's speaking to you, you know you're the only one he's seeing." She shrugged, then glanced up at Wendy. "He's very nice. He wanted to know a little bit about me, but mostly we discussed psychiatry. He gave me a lot of information."

Wendy grinned. "I'm glad. I was half afraid you'd come home still determined to sneak into that damn asylum."

Lana chewed, wrinkling her nose at her girlfriend.

"You know I have to do what I have to do," she teased, "_I_ don't even like it sometimes."

"I know," Wendy said after a moment, her hand slipping across the table to rest on Lana's. "You know I'm so proud of you."

"I know," Lana smiled, placing her fork on the table. "I'm proud of you, too, sweetheart."

Wendy smiled, watching Lana for a moment.

"I'll be right back," she whispered before disappearing from the room. Lana sat alone for a moment, waiting until Wendy returned, taking her seat back at the table. "I got you something. A little present. For all your hard work recently."

She slid a small square box across the table to Lana, keeping her gaze on her girlfriend's face.

Lana blotted her mouth with a napkin before placing her fingers on the box and picking it up.

"You didn't have to..."

"I know," Wendy sighed, and then grinned, "Go ahead, open it up."

Lana's fingers opened the lid, her eyes falling to the item nestled on a soft velvet background. It was a cursive L, a golden pin with diamonds running the length of the uppermost curve. She gasped slightly, her fingers tracing the fine piece of jewelry.

"It's beautiful," she glanced up at Wendy, "Thank you so much." She leaned forward in her seat, catching Wendy in a tight hug, the fingers of her available hand running up her lover's back.

"I thought you might be able to wear it now that you're actually allowed to leave the office for legitimate interviews," Wendy chuckled slightly.

Lana laughed, too, and took the pin from its box. She fastened it on the lapel of her shirt and looked up at Wendy.

"I love it," Lana sighed happily, "And I love you."

"I love you, too," Wendy returned the sentiment, unable to tear her eyes away from Lana.

The rest of the dinner conversation focused on the topics Lana loved discussing the most with Wendy: unimportant and even silly items that left both of them in tears from laughing. Once their plates were cleared and their stomachs ached with the weight of a delicious meal, Wendy cleared the dishes from the table and Lana ran the hot water in the sink. They stood side by side, washing and drying as The Supremes sang in the background.

Lana, humming, tied up the small white trash bag and pulled it from the trash can as Wendy disappeared into the living room. Lana unlocked the back door and slipped into the dark night. She had removed her stockings during dinner and the cool, damp grass tickled her feet as she walked. She moved toward the back of the house, and suddenly felt as if someone were watching her. She turned to the back door of the house, which was still open, but vacant. Wendy was nowhere in sight. She glanced around at the alley behind their home, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Several cars, none of them out of place. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that _someone_ was there.

The wind blew, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin, and she hurried to the trash can. She dumped the bag in and raced back inside, shutting and locking the door quickly behind her. She took a moment to catch her breath and collect herself, and by the time she reached the living room, Wendy was on the couch with a joint between her fingers.

She glanced up, smiling, then frowned when she saw the look on Lana's face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lana sighed, "It's just... weird out there tonight."

"Weird?" Wendy repeated.

"Yeah," Lana nodded, looking at her, "I don't know, hard to explain. It just felt like someone was watching me."

"Watching you, huh?" Wendy teased, taking a drag. "_Now_ who's the paranoid one?"

They spent the rest of the evening on the couch, watching television and talking. Wendy was working on lesson plans and Lana was reviewing some of the notes she'd taken during their interview. She knew that tomorrow would be a long day of picking and choosing the most important information to form into an article that would have to impress Emmerman.

Eventually, Wendy had set her lesson plans aside and Lana pulled a blanket over them as they curled together on the sofa. They fell asleep to the blue lights of the television set and didn't wake until a few minutes after midnight, when the television station had already signed off for the evening. Lana gently woke Wendy and they moved into the bedroom, where Wendy fell back to sleep nearly as soon as she was tucked beneath the covers.

Lana blinked sleepily in the darkness of the room, and noticed a light shining in from outside. She dragged herself from the bed and peered between the blinds. A car was still just in front of the house, a pair of headlights piercing the darkness. She squinted, but couldn't make out any details of the car. She knew there were a pair of college students who lived just across the street, but had never seen them leave their house so late. She yawned, closed the blinds and returned to bed.

That night, she dreamt of Briarcliff.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: None

I feel as if this chapter ended pretty abruptly, but the next chapter will make up for it.

* * *

Lana stretched her fingers out, taking a short break from her incessant typing. It felt like she'd been at it for hours when, in actuality, the amount of time it had taken her to change the ribbon on the typewriter was longer than the amount of time she had been working. She couldn't keep herself from glancing towards the room her boss sat in, waiting for that inevitable call to invite her into his office. She couldn't keep her mind on her current assignment and found herself spending a large portion of her time correcting her mistakes.

Her eyes scanned over the words on the page, cursing softly each time she found a misspelled word or typo. She had finally decided to scrap the whole page and start over when she heard her editor's door open, his gruff voice calling her. Without bothering to eject the rough draft, she scrambled from her chair and towards Emmerman's office, walking briskly and with her head held high. No matter how this ended up going, she was ready.

The news was better than she had expected. Not only had Emmerman loved the piece Lana had turned in yesterday morning concerning modern-day psychiatry and a brief introduction into the mind of an alleged serial killer, the newspaper had recieved several dozen phone calls praising the article's insight, clarity and content. Lana's editor had been thrilled that the local section of the newspaper was recieving such publicity when national news seemed to be all that anyone cared about as of late.

By the time Lana emerged from his office over thirty minutes later, she felt herself beaming with pride. She couldn't keep the words from repeating in her head: _her own weekly column_. And that was at the very least. He'd guaranteed her if she could keep the readers interested for at least a month, her article would be promoted to bi-weekly. That meant that two times a week, _her_ column, _her_ picture, _her_ name would appear in its own delegated spot on one specific page. She would have dedicated readers. At this point, the honor couldn't have meant more to her if she'd been nominated for a Pulitzer.

Her fingers itched to pick up the phone and call Wendy, and she nearly did before she realized it was only 10:30 in the morning. She wouldn't be able to reach her by phone until after Wendy returned home from school around four o'clock in the afternoon. She simply couldn't wait that long to tell her the good news.

Lana grabbed her purse from her desk and hurried to her car. She had only been to visit Wendy at the elementary school where she worked once before, but she knew her schedule well enough to know that by the time she arrived, her class would be at lunch and Wendy would have a few moments to talk.

She drove across town, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she traveled. It would be such a small feat, she knew, to anyone else, but Wendy would understand. Wendy would be so proud.

She reached the school and traipsed into the office, where the secretaries handed her a guest badge and pointed her in the direction of Miss Peyser's classroom. Lana traversed the hallway, coming to a stop with a smile on her face as she approached Wendy's classroom door. Plastered on the outside of the door were pictures of all twenty-six of her third-graders, tiny faces broken into large smiles and proudly displaying a science project that they had just completed the week prior. Lana couldn't help but smile herself. With the way she felt right now, she let herself believe that one day, their children would be attending this same elementary school. That in ten years, _their_ child would be the one proudly displaying their academic accomplishments.

Lana peeked around the door and through the small glass window that framed the entrance. She spotted Wendy sitting at her desk, her dark eyes focused on a paper as she stabbed a salad with her fork, bringing it to her mouth. Lana could have simply watched her, but quickly remembered that Lana would have to collect her class sooner rather than later. Lana's hand found the doorknob and turned it, opening the wooden door and grinning wide as Wendy looked up and saw her.

"Hey!" Wendy sounded surprised; of course she was. Lana never came down to the school for fear that Wendy's colleagues would sense there was something deeper between them than a simple friendship. Wendy quickly chewed the salad in her mouth and swallowed, standing up and hurrying over to Lana. She wore the pair of simple black-framed glasses that she only wore when she was alone; she hated the way they looked on her. "Is everything okay?"

Lana tilted her head, smiling.

"I love those glasses on you. Why don't you wear them more?"

It took Wendy half a second to realize what Lana was saying before she pulled them off, her cheekbones highlighted by a soft pink blush.

"I hate them," she admitted sheepishly, "I look like a geek."

Lana laughed softly, moving closer to her.

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you look pretty sexy," her voice had dropped impossible low and she moved closer still. Wendy flushed, her lips spreading into a tiny smile, though her eyes darted nervously toward the window by the door.

"Lana," she warned softly, her eyes darkening as she watched her lover, "You're not being fair right now. I'm at work."

Lana's lips curved into a smile, her voice still soft.

"Okay, I'll be good. Until later."

Although the pink remained in Wendy's cheeks, she smiled softly, obviously enamored with the other woman's behavior despite the inopportune moment.

"So what are you doing here?" She wondered, "Is your car driving all right with that new tire?"

Lana nodded, still grinning.

"I'm not here to talk about my car."

Wendy smiled wider, still keeping her gaze focused on Lana.

"Well, what is it? Good news?"

"You could say that," Lana teased, "if you consider me having my own weekly column _good_ news."

Wendy gasped suddenly, her mouth dropping open. She was too shocked to say anything for a moment and then grabbed Lana tightly, squeezing her into a tight embrace.

"Oh my! You're kidding! You're not kidding!" She laughed when Lana did and stepped back. "That's incredible, ba-" she cut herself off in the middle of the word, shaking her head to regain control. "Lana. That's incredible. You should be so proud of yourself!"

Lana laughed again, reaching for Wendy's hand. It was an unconscious movement, but Wendy merely brushed the other woman's hand before pulling away. Lana felt the flush of disappointment wash over her before she plastered the smile back onto her lips. She couldn't take this lack of intimacy personally. If she had wanted to be physical with the woman, she knew she should have waited until they were both at home. She saw the hurt flash in Wendy's eyes and immediately regretted her actions. This pained both of them more than either one could say.

"We need to go out and celebrate tonight," Wendy nodded, glancing at her watch. "You choose the place, okay?"

"That's what I was thinking," Lana nodded excitedly, watching as Wendy crossed the room to retrieve her jacket.

"I've got to go get my class from the playground," Wendy informed her, "I'll walk you out?"

She and Lana made their way down the hallway before she paused just by the front entrance, smiling gently at Lana before she exited. The smile between them said everything that they knew they couldn't say aloud.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Wendy called, beginning towards the playground.

"Oh!" Lana stopped just short of the door, "Wendy, I was thinking of asking Dr. Thredson if he'd like to join us tonight. I mean, he did give me the means to write the article." She paused, searching Wendy's face. "Would that be okay?"

Wendy hesitated for only a moment before shrugging, a soft smirk playing on her lips.

"Yeah, why not? It's your celebration. I'll see you, Lana." She winked playfully at her lover before turning and walking down the hallway. Lana couldn't help but notice the playful spring in her step. She smiled to herself as she drove back to work.

She tried to call the doctor twice that afternoon before leaving the office, but his phone went unanswered. She considered calling for him at Briarcliff, but decided against it and instead finished her work day without giving it another thought.

By the time she arrived home from work, Wendy was waiting on her, a bouquet of one dozen red roses placed meticulously in a glass vase on the table. Her hair was pulled back with a barrette and she sat at the kitchen table, back to the front door and deeply absorbed in the novel she was reading. Lana couldn't help but smile and crept toward her lover, slipping her fingers swiftly over the other girl's shoulders and hugging her from behind.

Wendy jumped at the sudden contact and let out a soft curse, blinking up to see Lana before breaking into a grin.

"You scared me!" She tried to play it off, marking her page and closing her book.

"I'm sorry," Lana said softly into her ear, "I didn't mean to." She placed a quick kiss on her lover's cheek from her position behind Wendy. "You just looked so cute sitting there reading." Her eyes glanced over the title of the book Wendy had been reading and she rolled her eyes. "No wonder you're scared! You need to stop reading these weird mystery books. You'll give yourself nightmares."

"I like them." Wendy defended her choice of novel softly, and then stood, slipping her arms around Lana's waist. "Besides, I could never have nightmares with you in bed next to me."

Lana couldn't fight the grin that slid onto her lips, and she buried her face in Wendy's shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"The roses are beautiful, baby."

Wendy looked confused for a moment before glancing toward the roses and then pouting her lower lip.

"Oh, you came up so quickly and surprised me! I was going to give them to you, rather than you just seeing them." She traced her fingers over Lana's arm. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Lana asked softly, "I told you they're beautiful. I love them. There's nothing to apologize for!"

Wendy kept her gaze on Lana for a few long seconds, admiring every facet of the woman's beautiful face. Lana felt a blush creeping into her cheeks and tried to turn her face away, but Wendy touched her cheek gently with one hand.

"You're beautiful, Lana." The words were as real and genuine as they had ever been, and Lana met her girlfriend's loving gaze. Lana's lips brushed Wendy's ear, placing a whispered kiss just at the base of her ear that sent chills running up her lover's arms.

"I need you so badly right now," Lana's tongue caught the tip of Wendy's earlobe before her fingers curled into her lover's palm, pulling her toward their bedroom.

They fell onto the bed, their fingers running over each other, lips and teeth meeting skin in a hurried frenzy of passion. Arousal overcame them quickly and it was only a matter of moments before Lana was moaning Wendy's name in ecstasy, moving against her fingers, soft cries quieted by kisses. Lana had barely had time to catch her breath before she was on top of Wendy, her mouth finding her girlfriend's core. Wendy arched into Lana's mouth, crying out for Lana, who used her hands to hold Wendy's hips against the bed. Both of them were spent within twenty minutes and fell against the bed, exhausted but giggling.

Wendy's fingers crept teasingly up Lana's backside, tickling her bare side lovingly.

"We're going to miss our dinner reservation," she sighed happily, "unless we get out of bed right now."

Lana groaned sleepily, turning towards Wendy, who smiled shyly as her eyes took in Lana's body.

"Why are we going to dinner, again?"

"To eat," Wendy giggled, already climbing out of bed, "And more importantly, to celebrate your success."

"I thought we just celebrated," Lana grinned at her.

"We did," Wendy said, her voice low. She moved closer to Lana. "And if we can get through a few hours in public without tearing each other's clothes off, we'll celebrate again."

By the time Lana had been convinced to get out of bed and dressed, Wendy was waiting somewhat impatiently in the living room, watching Lana scurry around the house with a half-amused smirk on her face. Lana had an earring in one ear, was searching desperately for the other one, and carrying her high heels in one hand. Wendy had already called for the taxi to bring them to the restaurant and stood to peek out the window, calling for Lana to hurry.

"I'm hurrying!" She cried, on her knees beside the bed to reach the earring that had slid under the bed frame. "Is the taxi here?"

"Not yet," Wendy reported, "but it will be any minute."

Lana hurried out of the bedroom, pausing to slip into her shoes. The phone rang suddenly, startling Wendy from her position at the window. Lana sighed and hurried to answer it despite an irritated noise from Wendy.

"Hello?"

"Lana," came the deep voice, "This is Oliver Thredson. How are you?"

"Oh! Dr. Thredson," she greeted him, shrugging into an overcoat. "I'm well! I've been trying to reach you."

"Have you?" He asked after a moment's hesitation, "I read your article, Lana. It was magnificent."

"Oh, thank you," she replied, glancing up at Wendy, who was watching her. "I couldn't have written it without your help, Doctor."

"No, don't-" he paused, "I hope it went over well with your editor."

"It did," she informed him, "It went better than I expected. I was given my own weekly column."

"That's wonderful news, Lana," she heard him smile on the other end of the line, "You deserve it, I'm sure."

"I hope you'll be able to find more time to meet with me," she said earnestly, "You are an incredible source of information."

She glanced up as Wendy cleared her throat, signaling to the front door. The taxi had arrived. Lana shrugged quickly, waving her hand to indicate that Wendy could wait outside for her.

"I-" his voice faded, "Thank you, Lana."

She smiled, reaching for her handbag as she prepared to leave.

"Dr. Thredson, I'm on my way out. It's part of the reason I've been trying to reach you. Wendy and I are going to dinner now, but I was hoping you could meet me for a celebratory drink later this evening."

The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to make it, Lana-"

"Dr. Thredson," she interrupted, "please try. It would mean so much to me. I couldn't have done any of this without you."

"I'll see if I can make it," he replied after a moment. "Where will you be?"

She relayed the name of the bar they planned to visit after having dinner and bid him a quick farewell, rushing out to the taxi and slipping into the backseat next to Wendy, who looked at her expectantly.

"And what did the good doctor want?" She questioned as the taxi pulled into the street, moving slowly away from the house.

"He read my article," she sighed, adjusting in the seat, "I invited him to come have drinks with us."

"Great," Wendy sighed, her eyes focused on the windows as they glided through the dark streets. The rest of the cab ride was silent.

By the time they reached the restaurant, Wendy had seemingly come out of her foul mood, and was decidedly more agreeable. Dinner was excellent, and though Lana knew it was difficult for Wendy to distract herself from the thought of a parent or student seeing them out together and correctly assuming the worst, she did a decent job of avoiding eye contact with anyone but Lana and being her normal, happy self.

By the time they had paid the bill and arrived at the bar, it seemed that Wendy was having a great time. They talked about nonsense, laughed loudly over the crowd's chatter, and were at the end of their first round of drinks when Lana spotted Dr. Thredson through the crowd. He had approached through the cluster of people and paused for a moment when she spotted him. She waved him over, and Wendy turned, still smiling, to look over her shoulder at what Lana was seeing. She stared for a moment, and the doctor caught her gaze before Wendy turned back to Lana.

He approached the table slowly, nodding curtly at Lana before turning his gaze to Wendy.

"Dr. Thredson," she stood to accommodate him, "This is Wendy Peyser, my roommate." She glanced to Wendy. "Wendy, this is Dr. Oliver Thredson."

"How do you do, Miss Peyser?" Dr. Thredson nodded to Wendy, still standing in his position at the head of the table.

"I'm fine, thank you," Wendy responded dryly, "And yourself?"

"I'm well." He glanced around the room before Lana gestured to a chair.

"Sit down, please." She grinned at him for several seconds before he relented and seated himself in the empty seat at the table. "I'm so glad you could make it, Dr. Thredson."

**"**Yes, well, I'm afraid I can't stay long," he nodded at Lana, "I just thought I'd drop by to say congratulations on the article."

"Thank you," Lana ducked her head shyly, looking over to Wendy, who was now smiling at her. "As I said before, Doctor, I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. I know you're a very busy man."

Wendy tilted her head, looking at Dr. Thredson, one eyebrow quirked.

"You're the head psychiatrist at Briarcliff Asylum, correct? I imagine it must be a very difficult position, trying to get into the heads of all of your patients." She thought for a moment, "Or do you simply use lobotomies to swirl around the minds of the ones who aren't responding to your so-called therapies?"

Lana's jaw went slack at the sudden brashness of Wendy's words. She had never heard the other woman speak so bluntly to another human, much less one she had known for less than five minutes.

"Wendy..." Lana murmured quietly, furrowing her eyebrows at the other girl. Wendy's eyes traveled to the table before pushing her chair back.

"Excuse me, I'm going to the restroom."

Lana watched as Wendy walked away before returning her gaze to the doctor.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "She's not usually like this. I don't know-I..."

"It's fine, Lana," he half smiled at her, "She's right. Psychiatry has gained a negative reputation within its history. It's only logical for her to misunderstand." He blinked at Lana. "At least _you_ understand."

"I do," Lana nodded quickly, "I know the work you do with your patients is commendable." She shrugged, "I just hope she didn't offend you. You've been so much help to me, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Lana," he warned her warmly, "I'm not an easy person to offend. Your friend obviously has some issues with my choice of career, and I can accept that." He smiled at her, "Everyone is entitled to their own opinion."

Lana smiled openly at him.

"Thank you for understanding, Doctor."

Their conversation fell silent as Wendy appeared back at the table. Lana looked up to meet her gaze as she slid back into her seat, just as Dr. Thredson pushed his chair back and stood.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go to the bar and buy us a round of drinks," he cleared his throat, "It's high time we celebrated your success, Lana," he nodded at her and made his way through the crowd.

"Great," Wendy muttered, staring at her fingernails, "We're on a first name basis."

"What is going on with you tonight?" Lana demanded, her eyes fixed on her girlfriend's gaze.

"What?" Wendy asked, her palms turned up.

"You're acting strange," Lana told her quietly, "I've never seen you like this."

"Don't you think he seems a little weird?" Wendy asked, leaning closer to Lana, "A little off, somehow?"

"Wendy, he spends his days with people who do nothing but hit their heads against the walls of their cells," Lana defended him, "How off do you think you'd have to be to do that kind of work?"

"I don't know," Wendy admitted quietly, "I just don't like him. He's trying way too hard to impress you, Lana. Can't you see that?" She met her lover's gaze, her cheeks flushing. "I'm just being honest."

"You're being rude," Lana hissed in return, "He's done a lot for me in the short time I've known him. He's extremely intelligent and thoughtful, and he's part of the reason that I even have this column to begin with." She caught Wendy's eyes. "If you don't like him, I understand, but _please_ don't ruin this for me, Wendy. You have your dream job. This is helping me get to mine." She blinked at her lover. "If you insult his pride, he may decide he's done with me. I'm not ready for that."

Wendy watched her for a moment before shaking her head, blinking her eyes and looking up at Lana guiltily.

"You're right, Lana. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about that. I just felt... I don't know. Jealous, I guess. I just... didn't like the way he was looking at you." She sounded as if she might cry, her fingers curled into her palms on the table.

"Wendy," Lana said her name softly, touching her hand. Wendy's dark eyes looked up. "You have no reason to be jealous. I've told you before and I'll tell you again." She glanced around before lowering her head and her voice, "You are the _only_ one I want." She smiled at Wendy, patting her hand. "And that's how it's going to stay."

Wendy offered her a sad smile, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

"I know, Lana. I'm just so sorry." She sniffed. "Can you please forgive me?"

"Of course," Lana smiled gently at her, "I forgive you."

Lana hadn't had time to pull her hand from Wendy's when Dr. Thredson returned to the table carrying three glasses of red wine. He glanced at them oddly before sliding one to Wendy, another to Lana, and clutching the remaining glass in his fingers.

"Thank you," Lana smiled up at him.

"Here's to Lana," he proposed the toast, tipping his wine glass towards her. "May all your future endeavors be such successes."

"Hear, hear," Wendy smiled proudly at Lana before tipping the glass back and taking a long drink. "Congratulations, Lana."

"Thank you," she replied, "And thank you, Dr. Thredson." He nodded at her, and there was a momentary silence between them as they drank.

"Was your day busy, Dr. Thredson?" Lana asked, tilting her head toward him.

"Ah, yes," he placed his glass on the table, "Fridays are my busiest days, what with making sure my patients are set for the weekend with their medications."

"What made you decide to go into psychiatry, Doctor?" Wendy asked the question suddenly, her eyes focused on him.

"I've always been fascinated in the way the human mind works," he admitted quietly, watching Wendy. "Interested to see if their thoughts are different, or the same as mine." He smirked at her. "So far, I've found most of them to be quite different."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Lana asked, tilting her head. "I mean, the world would be incredibly boring if we all thought the same way, wouldn't it?"

His lips turned up into a tiny smile.

"I'm so glad you see things that way, Lana." He watched her for a moment and looked as if he wanted to say something more, but turned his attention toward Wendy.

"What kind of work do you do, Miss Peyser?"

"I teach school," Wendy responded, blinking up at him, "third grade."

"Ah, a noble profession, indeed," he nodded, "And where did you receive your formal education?"

"Uh," the question threw Wendy off, "At Emmanuel College?"

He glanced toward Lana.

"So you two met in college?"

Lana nodded, pressing her lips together. She wasn't sure why he was suddenly so interested in their relationship, but the fact that he was tiptoeing so close to the edge of the proverbial ice frightened her.

"We've been friends for almost ten years," Lana offered the knowledge, glancing at Wendy before sighing softly. "Dr. Thredson, please tell us more about yourself. You're such a fascinating person."

The distraction worked and he began to discuss his general background for going into psychiatry. Lana leaned forward on her elbows on the table, watching him and nodding whenever he made a point or looked to her for a response. The conversation lasted close to fifteen minutes and Lana glanced at Wendy, who was sitting oddly still in her chair, her eyes beginning to look glassy and tired.

"Wendy, are you okay?" Lana asked, watching the other woman.

"Hmm?" She asked, blinking hard before looking at Lana, a slow smile sneaking across her lips, "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Good."

Lana glanced toward Dr. Thredson, who narrowed his eyebrows at her.

"She's sort of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol," she told him quietly, "not a big drinker."

"Ah." Dr. Thredson nodded, looking back at Wendy.

"Do you have, uh..." Wendy paused, glancing around with wide eyes, "water?"

Lana glanced at the table, her eyes scanning their empty wine glasses.

"No, I'll get you some." She hurried to the bar, ordered a water and waited impatiently as the bartender filled the glass. She glanced back toward Wendy, who was staring at Dr. Thredson with wide, unblinking eyes. She brought the glass to the table and placed it in front of Wendy, who picked it up with a trembling hand and took a long sip.

Just as the glass was being lowered back to the table, her hand began to shake and it tumbled to the surface, clear liquid billowing out and covering the table in a puddle. Wendy laughed loudly, covering her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "So sorry." She fumbled for her napkin and dabbed at the puddle clumsily. "Oopsies."

"Wendy..." Lana said her name again, and Wendy looked toward her, her eyes beginning to droop. "I think something's wrong. We should go home."

"I'm fine," Wendy drew the word out, looking to Dr. Thredson, "He's a doctor. You're a doctor. I'm fine."

Dr. Thredson instructed Wendy to keep still for a moment, gazing into her eyes.

"She's had too much to drink," he concluded, "You should take her home."

"Okay," Lana looked worriedly toward her lover, "Could you please keep an eye on her while I call a taxi?"

"Oh," he shook his head, "Don't worry about it. I'll take you both home."

Lana hesitated, chewing on her lip.

"I don't know. I don't want to take your time. You said you couldn't stay long."

"Lana," he said her name calmly, placing his hand on hers. His touch was warm, and he glanced at their hands together before removing his. "She needs to get home as quickly as possible. I don't mind driving you, and I'm a doctor. If anything happens, you'll be safer with me than some taxi driver. Besides, my schedule has opened up considerably."

Lana felt the immediate relief wash over her face and she sighed.

"You're right, Doctor. Thank you so much." She stood, gathered her things, and moved over to Wendy. She grabbed the other woman's purse and pulled gently at her arm. "Stand up, Wendy. We're leaving."

"I don't wanna leave," Wendy slurred, "It's fun here."

"Wendy," Lana groaned, pulling the other woman to her feet, "We're going home. Now come on."

Wendy let out a defeated sigh as she stood, stumbling after Lana. Lana tried to hold onto the woman as they made their way out the front door and into the parking lot, but Wendy had trouble controlling her steps. They made it into the parking lot with Dr. Thredson rushing behind them. Lana looked back at him just for a moment, allowing her grasp on Wendy to loosen for less than a few seconds.

She heard a brief shriek from Wendy followed by a thump. She glanced hurriedly toward the other woman, who was now laying over a parking stop, her ankle twisted into a strange position. Wendy was half-laughing, half-crying over the incident.

"Wendy!" Lana scurried over to her, followed closely by Dr. Thredson, who immediately began to investigate her ankle. "Are you okay?"

"It's already swelling," he confirmed, "she must have sprained it."

"Oh, Wendy," Lana sighed sadly, taking her hand.

"Let's get her home," Dr. Thredson instructed, carefully slipping one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her easily into the air, moving towards his car. Lana took the car keys and unlocked the doors. Dr. Thredson slid Wendy into the back seat, propping her head against one of the windows and using a small blanket to prop her swollen ankle. Lana wanted to scoot into the backseat with Wendy, but Dr. Thredson insisted she allow Wendy to have her space, so she climbed into passenger seat.

Lana craned her neck to see Wendy in the backseat. Her eyes were closed and her head lolled against the window. She felt tears of worry burning her eyes, turning back to Dr. Thredson.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," she told him urgently, "I've never seen her like this before. This isn't how she acts when she's drunk." She looked worriedly at Wendy again. "Do you think we should take her to the hospital?"

"There's nothing the hospital will be able to do for her that I can't," he replied calmly, keeping his eyes on the road. "She'll be okay after a night of sleep. Make sure she drinks a lot of water."

"What about her ankle?" Lana asked.

"I'll examine it once we get to your house," he told her, "if it's a sprain, I'll wrap it for her and she can visit her physician in the morning."

Lana sighed distractedly, letting her worried eyes scan the road in front of her. Wendy was babbling incoherently in the back seat, giggling a little now and then.

"Lana," he said her name quietly, and she looked toward him. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise you. Sometimes this happens, but they always end up pulling through."

"They?" Lana asked, her lower lip quivering.

He hesitated.

"People who drink too much." He glanced at her again, offering her a tiny smile. "She will be fine."

They arrived at the curb of the house and Lana immediately tried to exit the car, only to remember that she had to wait for the doctor to open the door. He hesitated for a moment in the front seat, looking toward her. She watched him, glancing back at Wendy.

"Dr. Thredson, please let me out."

He smiled carefully at her before slowly moving from his seat and going around to the side of the car. He pulled the door open for her and she sprung to the back door, pulling it open as well.

"Wendy?" She said her name carefully, and Wendy's head rolled towards her voice, eyes half-open. Lana felt the worry bubbling in her stomach as her eyes scanned her girlfriend. Her hand reached out to touch Wendy's skin and she found it terrifyingly cool. She couldn't help the tears breaking into her voice as she called for the doctor.

He appeared at the door beside her, watching Wendy for a moment before reaching in and lifting her out. He carried her to the front door, pausing only long enough for Lana to unlock it. By the time the front door was closed behind them, Lana couldn't stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks. She was scared to death and worried out of her mind.

"Here's the couch," Lana pointed to him, and he began to carry her toward the seat. Wendy twisted urgently in his arms.

"I don't wanna couch," she mumbled, flailing her arms out, "wanna go to bed."

Lana looked toward her, frozen in indecision. Dr. Thredson was still holding Wendy, who was now pointing toward the hallway that led to their bedroom.

"You'll be fine out here," she tried to reason with Wendy, knowing that if Dr. Thredson carried her into the bedroom- _their _bedroom, their secret would be out. She knew Wendy didn't want that, but her mind wasn't functioning properly right now. She was drunk or _something_, and she wasn't able to think for herself. "Just put her here on the couch, Dr. Thredson."

"No, Lana, bed," Wendy insisted, pulling on the doctor's coat. "Bed."

"She should probably be in bed," Dr. Thredson agreed, "She needs to be immobilized for a couple of days to ensure that she doesn't further injure herself."

"All right," Lana sighed softly, pointing him in the direction of the bedroom, "It's in that way."

She followed him through a short hallway and into the small area of the home where their bed was located. He gently laid Wendy down on top of the covers, moving down toward her ankle to inspect it. He touched it carefully, lifting it to assess the damage. Wendy winced and cried out, but her pain seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"It's just a twisted ankle," he confirmed after a moment, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under her foot to keep it elevated. Give her some aspirin, lots of water, and try to keep her off her feet for the rest of the weekend. Put some ice on it as soon as you possibly can and make sure she keeps it elevated." He glanced up at Lana. "She should be fine by Monday."

"Thank you, Doctor," she glanced toward Wendy, "And what about the way she's acting?"

"Well," he reflected after a moment, "Alcohol does have a tendency to make people act strangely. How much did she have to drink?"

"Maybe three glasses of wine total," she shook her head, "One at dinner, and two at the bar. But, as I said, I've seen her drunk before, and she's never been...like this."

Lana glanced toward her girlfriend, who was lying awkwardly on the mattress, her eyes nearly rolled back into her head.

"I'm worried about her," Lana confirmed, "I just can't help wondering if..."

"What is it?" He asked, after a moment of silence between them.

"Do you think it's possible there could have been..." Lana hesitated, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing toward Wendy worriedly, "I don't know. Maybe someone put something in her drink?"

He looked surprised for a moment before narrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head slightly.

"Why would anyone want to drug your roommate, Lana? She's a school teacher. What motive could there possibly be behind such an action?"

"I don't know," Lana admitted tiredly. After saying the words, she felt a bit foolish. Of course no one wanted to drug her. Everyone who knew Wendy loved her, and she never said a negative word to or about anyone. There she was being paranoid again. If Wendy had been in a better state of mind, they would have laughed together.

Dr. Thredson perched on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid Wendy's injured ankle.

"You have a very charming home, Lana," he told her, glancing around. "This is a two-bedroom house?"

"No," Wendy cracked before Lana had a chance to speak. He looked up at her. Lana cleared her throat, hoping to distract him before Wendy could go any further.

"There's a small bedroom down the hall," Lana spoke hurriedly, eyeing Wendy as her heart raced. "And it's-"

"No one sleeps there," Wendy hissed at Lana, her head rolling to catch Thredson's eyes. "This is _our_ bed. That's our dirty little secret, Doctor. What's yours?"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Lana had woken up around seven o'clock that next morning. She wasn't able to sleep between worrying about Wendy's strange behavior, her ankle, and the words the woman had whispered to Dr. Thredson just before she'd ended up passing out for the night.

Lana stewed in the kitchen for as long as possible, made three cups of tea, ate two pieces of toast, and watched the clock. She tried to listen to the radio to distract herself, but the songs only reminded her of Wendy and she couldn't stand waiting a moment longer.

She made tea and toast for Wendy, retrieved two aspirin from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and filled a glass with water from the sink. She placed the food on a tray and carried it into the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, watching Wendy for a moment. Wendy was sprawled on her back, arms and legs flung across the bed. Her dark hair was in her face and she was breathing heavily, her sleep punctuated by quiet snores.

Lana almost hated to wake her, but she couldn't wait any longer. She hoped Wendy's head was clearer than it had been last night, and that she would remember something-anything-about what exactly had happened.

Placing the tray on the side table, Lana crawled onto the bed, her hands going to Wendy's shoulders to shake her softly.

"Wendy," she whispered her name. Wendy stirred in her sleep but didn't open her eyes. She tried again, shaking her a little harder this time. Wendy murmured, shifted and wiped her hand over her mouth, coming away wet with drool. She sighed heavily and turned to go back to sleep, but Lana rubbed her back vigorously, preventing her from falling into that relaxed state.

"Wendy," she said her name again, "It's time to wake up."

Wendy groaned, whimpered softly and then her eyes fluttered open. She peeked at Lana before letting her eyelids close again.

"I'm tired," she whined, "a few more minutes."

"You can sleep later," Lana told her, "I need to talk to you."

Wendy sighed heavily and remained immobile for a moment. She made a move to lift her foot and cried out suddenly, sucking her breath in at the pain that shot through her ankle.

"Wendy," Lana chided her softly, guiding her ankle back to its place on a pillow, "be careful. Don't you remember twisting your ankle last night?"

"What?" She blinked sleepily, looking down at her swollen ankle. "No... what are you talking about?"

Lana frowned slightly, studying the confused look on her girlfriend's face.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" Lana wondered aloud, still perched at the edge of the bed. Her dark eyes watched Wendy, whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No, I..." she hesitated for a moment, considering Lana's words, "We went out, right? I remember that much. We had dinner and then..." she fell silent, staring hard at her ankle. "I guess that's all I remember." She looked up at Lana, eyes full of questions. "What happened?"

"I...I don't know," Lana admitted quietly, averting her gaze from Wendy's painful stare. She felt angry, though she wasn't sure who she was more angry at: Wendy, for spilling their secret, or herself for not being able to protect Wendy. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Wendy pushed herself up and then groaned, her head falling back against the pillow. Her hand went to her forehead, which caused Lana to give her the water and medicine. She watched quietly as Wendy swallowed and let her head roll to look at Lana.

"I feel like I drank a gallon of wine," she whispered, searching for Lana's eyes. "How much _did _I drink last night?"

"Not much," Lana responded quietly after a moment, shaking her head. "That's the problem."

Wendy tilted her head a little, narrowing her gaze.

"What do you mean? What's wrong?"

Lana glanced at her for a moment before standing and moving across the room.

"I don't know," she sighed heavily. "Wendy, you were acting really strange last night. You only had three glasses of wine and you literally couldn't even walk. You fell, twisted your ankle, and babbled incoherently the entire way home." She was quiet for a moment, looking to Wendy, whose eyes searched the comforter on the bed for some semblance of an answer. "You told Dr. Thredson about us."

Wendy's eyes raised from the bed, her gaze wide and frightened.

"What?"

Lana couldn't meet her eyes suddenly. She had spent the last eight hours attempting to wrap her mind around the fact that their relationship had been exposed so suddenly, but she still hadn't managed to accept it without an issue.

"You were so drunk, or... _whatever_ you were, you just let it slip that we sleep in the same bed." She felt her face flushing, "You called it _our dirty little secret_."

Wendy let out a quiet gasp, her wide eyes shining with tears.

"Oh my God, Lana," she whimpered, her lower lip already beginning to tremble. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her head fell into her hands. "What have I done? Oh, God, why?"

Lana's fingers curled into fists at her sides. She hated seeing Wendy upset, and the quiet sound of her tears left her feeling helpless and sick. She didn't want to see her girlfriend upset, but at the same time, _she_ was upset as well. Wendy was always so careful when it came to her job, and at the first inopportune moment, she hadn't even hesitated to out Lana.

Wendy glanced up from between her fingers, her face already red and wet with tears.

"What did he do?" She asked softly, dreading the answer. "Is everything going to be okay?"

She wanted more than anything to take the other girl into her arms, shush her, and promise that nothing would change from here on out. That it had been a simple mistake due to her level of intoxication, but her body wouldn't allow her to do so.

"I don't know," Lana answered softly, honestly. "He didn't really respond to it."

Wendy was silent for a moment before reaching for Lana, her eyes full of fear and apologies. Lana hesitated, watching her warily before moving closer to the bed. Wendy's hands grasped Lana's, and she held them tightly.

"You know I wouldn't..." Wendy began, she was speaking softly, and Lana was sure she was still feeling the effects of last night. She blinked heavily, her eyes glossy, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "You know I would never intentionally do that, Lana." She shook her head. "You believe me, don't you, honey? You know how careful I always am."

Lana watched her unwittingly for a moment, the corners of her lips turning into a slight frown.

"I know how careful you are when it comes to _your_ career," she acknowledged softly. Wendy's eyebrows furrowed slightly, her fingers loosening a little on Lana's hand.

"Lana..." Wendy said her name carefully, eyes full of hurt. "I would never..."

"Yeah," Lana shrugged away from Wendy's touch. "I know you wouldn't, Wendy." She suddenly hated herself for the cold way she was treating her lover. Wendy loved her, she was sure of that, and she wouldn't do anything to hurt her, intentionally or otherwise, but the sting was still in Lana's heart. They both knew how hard they had worked to keep their relationship a secret, and to have Wendy let it slip so suddenly in a moment of drunkenness... it felt like a betrayal.

"I'm going to go down to the market," Lana told her softly, glancing over Wendy as she rested helplessly in the bed. "I need to pick up some more aspirin for your head and ankle. Do you want anything else?"

Lana could see the hurt in Wendy's eyes, but chose to ignore it. She was glad Wendy was okay, yes, but a part of her couldn't forgive her yet for her impulsiveness, even if it hadn't been completely her fault.

"I want _you," _Wendy reached for her, "I want you to stay."

"I'll be back," Lana assured her, voice quiet. "Just stay here and rest. I need to pick up some bread and eggs so we won't starve this weekend." She forced a tiny smile to her lips. "I'll just be a few minutes."

She moved towards the bedroom door and heard Wendy's soft call behind her.

"I love you, Lana."

Lana turned, pressing her lips together. "I love you, too. I'll be back, okay?"

Lana slipped into her coat and grabbed her purse. The market was only ten minutes away by foot and the October morning was cool and refreshing. She began down the sidewalk, her eyes tracing the houses that surrounded theirs. She wondered how many other people in this neighborhood were hiding their lives behind locked doors and closed blinds. Of course she felt alone, like she and Wendy were the only people in the world who society refused to accept.

She tried to push the negative thoughts from her head, but worry nagged at her. She wasn't quite sure where her working relationship with Dr. Thredson currently stood. He had seemed in a hurry to leave quickly after Wendy's outburst, and though Lana had tried her best to downplay the other woman's words, she wasn't sure she'd quite convinced him with her lies. She could only hope that he was cultured enough to take the news in stride. It was no business of his, anyway. Still, she couldn't shake the thought of him taking the news to her boss, or worse, Wendy's school. It was a ridiculous thought, but she knew that she would be able to find other work eventually. Wendy would be ostracized from the teaching community. She would be devastated. Even now, the other woman was her first priority.

By the time she arrived at the market, her mind had been so busy inventing scenarios that could spell doom for both of them that she had forgotten the reason she'd come in the first place. After wandering the aisles for a moment, she remembered the aspirin and picked up two bottles. Bread was in the next aisle over and a large stand-up to promote the eggs that were on sale ended her trip quickly. She paid for her purchases and moved to the exit, stopping as she noticed the man just hanging up the receiver of the payphone. He stepped out of the phone booth, catching her eyes and grinning at her.

"Lana, hello," Dr. Thredson moved toward her, clutching a grocery bag in his arm, "Imagine meeting you here." He glanced at her bag, "How is everything today?"

"Uh," she hesitated for a moment, glancing around at their surroundings. "What are you doing all the way over here? Don't you live further into town?"

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment before lifting his bag.

"I do. I, actually, I come here because they have a bakery that makes the most delicious baguettes." Lana's eyes fell to the bag before raising to the doctor again.

"Oh," she smiled somewhat sheepishly, "I've never had them before."

Dr. Thredson smiled at her, scanning her with his gaze.

"Is everything all right at home? Is Wendy feeling all right?"

"She's..." Lana paused, trying to gauge some sort of reaction from him regarding her lover. His gaze remained focused on her, his face blank. "She's having some trouble remembering last night. I just came to pick up some more aspirin for her ankle."

"The ankle injury was quite unexpected," he said quickly, glancing down the street, "Where's your car?"

"Oh, I walked," Lana shrugged. "I needed the fresh air."

"Oh, well, I'll drive you back," he informed her, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her towards his car, "and I'll stop in to make sure Wendy's feeling all right. I'd like to make sure the swelling is starting to recede."

There was no time to protest before he was holding the car door open, gesturing for her to slide inside. She did so and sat quietly in the front seat as they made their way back to her home. The unspoken question hung in the air between them like a poisonous gas, causing Lana's throat to constrict and making it difficult for her to breathe.

In the short ride to her house, Lana nervously tore at the bag in her lap. The polish on her fingernails were beginning to chip and she made a mental note to repaint them that evening.

Once they arrived, Dr. Thredson slid from his seat, came around and opened Lana's door. She thanked him and headed up the path to the front door with him following closely behind. Sliding her key into the lock, she opened the door and lead the doctor inside, placing her grocery bag on the dining room table before making her way to their bedroom with Dr. Thredson behind her.

"Wendy," she spoke her name prior to entering the room, poking her head inside to make sure the other girl was decent. Wendy grinned upon seeing Lana, who stepped into the room followed by Dr. Thredson. At the sight of him, her face paled and the grin slipped from her face as if it had never been there. She looked questioningly to Lana, and then back to the doctor.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, her voice still hoarse from rest. "Get out."

"Wendy!" Lana scolded her, glancing towards Dr. Thredson. He watched Wendy, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion before glancing toward Lana.

"Maybe I should go," he stated cautiously, his hands raised in the air in a nonverbal surrender.

"No, Dr. Thredson, you're fine," Lana insisted, shooting Wendy a sharp glare. "Please stay."

"I don't want him here, Lana," Wendy spit the words out, "He's insane. He spent the last ten minutes on the phone threatening me!"

"Miss Peyser, I..." his mouth fell open in silent defense, looking toward Lana for support.

"That's ridiculous, Wendy. I met him at the market. He was buying bread! I've been with him for the last ten minutes."

Wendy's gaze of disbelief fell to Lana.

"Are you calling me a liar?" She scoffed, "And sticking up for this, this...guy that you've known for all of two weeks?"

"I'm not," Lana responded, attempting to keep her anger at bay in front of Dr. Thredson, "I'm not calling you a _liar_, Wendy... I just think maybe you're still getting over your hangover from last night. Maybe you fell back asleep after I left, okay?"

"I didn't fall back _asleep_," Wendy hissed, "I was awake the entire time, and _he_ called me! He asked if you were here, and when I told him that you weren't, he started saying that he-"

"Miss Peyser, I... I'm sorry if I sent you some sort of negative message last night, I...I've been with Lana, at the grocery store. I can assure you I didn't call you." He looked pleadingly toward Lana.

"You're joking, right? What, you think I don't recognize your voice?" She shot at him, "And you kept going on about Lana. I've only heard you say her name about fifty-thousand times in the two times we've spoken. I may spend my day working with eight-year-olds but that doesn't mean I have their intellectual capacity, Doctor." Wendy's gaze was hateful and mean as she stared him down.

"Wendy," Lana spoke her name calmly, though she could barely think of where to begin with the other woman, "I met Dr. Thredson at the market. He just came up to check on your ankle, and then he's going to be on his way." She raised her eyebrows at Wendy. "Is that okay?"

"No," Wendy snapped, glaring at him. "Don't you dare touch me. I don't even know if I believe you're a real doctor at this point. Get him out of here, Lana. I mean it."

Lana swallowed hard, watching Wendy for a moment before pursing her lips together and gesturing for Dr. Thredson to follow her from the room. She shut the door carefully behind them and leaned against it, her hand rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor." She looked up to see him watching her sympathetically, his head tilted curiously. "I honestly don't know what's gotten into her. I just can't apologize enough. I-"

"Lana," he said quietly, holding a hand up. "It's okay. There's no need to make apologies on her behalf. Please. It's quite all right. I would imagine she's in quite a bit of pain with her head and ankle, which may explain her erratic behavior." He offered her a tiny smile. "I'll just be on my way."

She stood for a moment, her fingers pinched together as she watched him prepare to leave.

"Dr. Thredson," she said his name hurriedly and he turned slowly, watching her. "Wait." The words were on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to speak so badly about the information Wendy had let slip last night. She needed to know if things were still okay between them, if he would scorn her or ostracize her. Still, she felt physically incapable of actually letting the words leave her mouth.

"I..." she began, and her mouth lost its moisture, "I was just wondering..." she sighed softly. "I was wondering when you would have time to meet with me again."

He smirked at her.

"How about Monday evening? If six o'clock works for you, I could work you into my schedule."

Lana nodded, smiling meekly.

"Do you have a problem with returning to my office after what happened last time? I don't want you to feel unsafe, though I will offer you a spot in the employee parking lot this time." He gave her a tiny grin.

Lana laughed softly, shaking her head.

"I'm happy to return to your office." Truthfully, she was. Simply knowing that Dr. Thredson wasn't willing to drop her simply because of who she loved spoke volumes to her. "Though maybe this time I should take a taxi."

He smiled at her again before heading for the front door. She stood in place, even after he had gone, unable to wipe the silly smile from her face. It took her a moment to slip her shoes off and move back into the bedroom, where Wendy sat in bed, watching the door with guarded eyes. She suddenly looked so tiny among the blankets and pillows, and Lana felt her heart heavy with guilt at her feelings of resentment.

Wendy watched her quietly as Lana perched on the edge of the bed, pulling her legs up beneath her.

"Listen," Lana sighed softly, "I'm sorry, Wendy. I really am."

Wendy's face softened, her eyebrows rising slightly in a show of appreciation. She blinked, reaching out for the other woman. Lana scooted closer to Wendy, letting her arms slip around Wendy's waist.

"It's okay," Wendy comforted her, "I forgive you, Lana. Always."

Lana pressed a kiss against Wendy's shoulder, pulling back a little to study her face.

"I was just worried about you," she admitted, "It was so unlike you, last night. You weren't yourself. You really scared me. And then this morning, saying Dr. Thredson called you when he couldn't have, it was just so-"

"What are you talking about?" Wendy asked suddenly, pulling away from the other woman. "Dr. Thredson _did _call me, Lana. He called not even a minute after you left the house."

Lana watched her, eyebrows furrowing. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"Well, what did he say?" She asked.

"I was trying to tell you that before the both of you started defending him. He was nasty, Lana. He was so cruel, the things he was saying about me. About _us_."

"Us?" Lana narrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head slightly, "Why would he say anything about us? He just left here, and he was perfectly nice. He didn't say a word about us."

"Not to _you_," Wendy pressed, "of course not. You're like his little pet or something. He's obviously in love with you, Lana."

"He's _not _in love with me," Lana defended, her face turning a light pink, "He's completely professional, Wendy. I'm so tired of having this conversation with you."

"If he's completely professional, then why did he call your _girlfriend _a slut? And why did he tell me that I've never loved you? That you deserve better than me and-"

"Wendy." Lana interrupted her, narrowing her eyes, "Why would he say those things? What possible motivation would he have to drive a rift between us?"

"I don't know!" Wendy shot back, "What motivation would I have to make this up?" Her fingers splayed, palms turned upward in question. "You tell me, Lana, because I need to know right now whose side you're on."

"I'm not on anyone's side," Lana's voice was quiet, and Wendy clenched her jaw, shaking her head.

"We've been together for nearly _ten years_ and you're not on anyone's side?" Wendy's eyes were dark with anger and hurt. "That might just be the most pathetic thing I've ever heard from you."

"Wendy..." Lana spoke her name in an attempt to calm the angry seas between them, but Wendy simply shook her head, looking away from her partner.

"I really don't want to hear anything from you right now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave me alone."

And so Lana left her alone. All day Saturday and most of the day Sunday. By Monday morning, they were barely on speaking terms, but Wendy's ankle had heeled enough for her to attend work. It was awkward between them at breakfast, attempting to make small talk while Lana knew in the back of her mind that the things she had done and said were wrong. She had been with Wendy for nearly a decade; she knew that she should come first above all others, but God, she had worked _so _hard for this story and this prestige in her career. Having it taken back now would break her heart.

Lana managed to make it through work on Monday without thinking too much about the hurt in Wendy's eyes. She had been sent out to make a report about a new bakery opening on the south side of town, which ensured the fact that she wasn't merely as important as her new-found weekly article led her to believe. It was a humbling experience, but she used it as an excuse to slip out of work a few minutes early to make her way to Dr. Thredson's office.

She pulled her car into the employee parking lot, searching for Dr. Thredson's car, though she couldn't find it in his designated parking place. She parked in the spot directly next to his and slipped out of the car, making her way to the front door. She pushed the buzzer for his apartment and waited for a moment, glancing around her. There was no answer after a moment and she pushed the button again.

She stepped back from the front entrance just as Dr. Thredson came around the corner of the building quickly, bumping roughly into his chest, and staggering back a few steps. His hands reached out to prevent her from falling and caught her by her arm, fingers curling around her wrist.

"Oh, my," he stammered the words, "I'm so sorry, Lana. I didn't think you'd be here early. Or perhaps I'm running a little late." He hurried to unlock the front door, holding it open for her.

"Thank you," she grinned, ducking under his arm and entering the building. She glanced back at him. "Were you stuck at Briarcliff?"

"Uh, no," he answered shortly, making his way down the hallway with her in tow. "I had to make a quick run to my house to check on something." He glanced back at her, "Did you have a busy day of work?"

Lana sighed and began to ramble on about the day she'd had, though she held back the information about the fight that she and Wendy had gotten into that had left her with such a bad taste in her mouth the entire day. By the time they reached Dr. Thredson's office, she was panting with exertion and the stress of her day. He offered her a sympathetic smile as they slipped into his office. He took her coat and led her to the sitting room, busying himself at his desk while she prepared for the interview.

He took a seat across the desk and leaned forward, lighting a cigarette and offering one to Lana before they began. The interview went smoothly enough, and Lana couldn't hide the feeling of pride she felt as she took quick notes of Dr. Thredson's words. She felt so purposeful, knowing that there was a specific spot reserved for her column, no one else's.

As the interview ended and Lana began to pack up her supplies, Dr. Thredson stood, his tongue wetting his lips as he glanced down at her.

"Lana, wait. Please."

She looked up at him, half-smiling, and nodded. She pressed the smile to her lips, but her mind was racing. This was it, she knew. He would tell her that he wasn't comfortable with her any longer, not as long as he knew about her 'condition'. He would bid her goodbye, good luck, and she would be exactly back where she started; nowhere.

He stood for a moment before moving to take a seat next to Lana. She turned to face him, keeping her eyes on him and swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Lana," he began softly, "I'd like to say something to you. I hope you don't think I'm intruding. What I would like to say I mean with only the best intentions."

Lana shook her head, her throat raw and dry. "No, please, go on."

He blinked, keeping such intense eye contact with her that she nearly averted her gaze. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and carefully placing his hand over hers. She glanced down at the skin-to-skin contact before looking back up at him to find him watching their hands. Slowly, his eyes raised back to hers.

"I've been wanting to say this to you since Friday night," he spoke, his dark eyes meeting hers. "First of all, I want you to know that I'm not angry with you."

"Angry?" She asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, "I'm not..."

He looked surprised for a moment, then shook his head.

"Angry may not be the best word." He paused, thinking, "What I'm trying to say is, I respect your life decisions. I understand that not everyone feels the way I do, but I'd like you to know that I think no less of you know that I know about..." he hesitated, "Now that I know about you. Your relationship with Wendy, that is."

She sat back in her seat, a smile pressing across her lips. To say that she was relieved was an understatement. She felt the pressing urge to throw her arms around Dr. Thredson's neck in an embrace, but restrained herself. He was still leaning into her, his hand resting on hers. Something about his eyes told her that he wasn't quite finished with what he intended to say.

"However," the word spilled from his lips and she felt the dread building inside of her again. "It may not be my place, but, I'd like to say something else to you. Not as a doctor, but as a human being. As a friend."

"Okay..." the word was barely audible coming from her.

"Lana," his voice was incredibly soft, coming at a level she'd never heard from him. "This is difficult for me to say. But, it would be even more difficult for me if I didn't say it."

"Dr. Thredson," she said quietly, "Please, just say what you need to say. You're making me nervous."

"I apologize," he smiled softly at her, before sighing. "I'd like to talk to you about Wendy."

"Wendy?" Her voice broke with curiosity, tilting her head at him. "What about her?"

"I understand you've known her for many years, and I've been led to believe that the two of you have been...together... for several years. What I'm trying to say, Lana, is that I believe you might be more satisfied with someone who has a greater appreciation for the sacrifices you've made."

Her eyes narrowed at him as she took in his words.

"I don't... what do you mean?" Of course, she knew what he meant, but her mind didn't want to absorb it immediately.

"I mean that I'm concerned for your well-being, Lana. Through the short conversations I've had with Wendy, I've been led to believe that perhaps your well-being isn't _her_ first priority." The sincerity in his eyes remained, "To be quite honest, I'm concerned that Wendy simply may not be the woman you believe her to be."

"Why would you say that?" Lana asked, a lump forming in her throat, "How could you possibly know that? You only met her a few days ago."

"I know, I know, Lana, but you must believe that I'm only telling you this because I am concerned for you. I don't want you to be hurt. Please believe me." His eyes were desperate now, pleading. "I didn't want to say anything, but I think you _must_ know."

"I must know what?" she asked quietly, pulling her hand away from his. He looked down at the loss of contact, an emotion she couldn't quite place flashing across his face. It took him only a second to compose himself before he met her eyes again.

"I think Wendy may be having an affair."

"What?" Lana choked out, unsure of whether to laugh or cry. She couldn't find any words for a moment and shook her head, her voice breaking. "An affair? Why-why would you think that?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," he claimed quickly, his eyes widening as he began to stand. "I'm sorry, Lana. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. I'll just help you gather your things and then I can-"

"No, please," Lana caught his hand again, her wide eyes full of questions, "Please, Dr. Thredson. If there's something you know that I don't, I need to hear it."

He lowered himself to his seat again, sighing quietly.

"I called for you the other day," he told her, "I was intending to ask about when you'd like to set up our next interview. I asked to speak with you, but Wendy said you weren't at home. But I heard a woman's voice in the background. Wendy called her Barb."

"Yes, Barb is our mutual friend," Lana shook her head, "I don't understand, what's-"

"I heard her calling Wendy back to bed," he said the words quickly, averting his gaze from her. "She very specifically said the words 'Wendy, come back to bed'."

Lana tried to fight the pain from her eyes, but knew she was failing. His words couldn't have been more like a knife in her heart. Her eyes dropped to the floor, shimmering with tears. She bit on her lip, pulling her hand away from his once again to dab at her eyes.

"Maybe you misunderstood," she whispered desperately after a moment. "It's possible that you simply misheard her, isn't it?"

"It's possible," he replied simply, hesitating for a moment before lifting her chin with his finger, establishing eye contact with her once again. "But I'm not one to jump to conclusions, Lana. You know that in my line of work I've been trained to thoroughly consider every possible scenario before making any assumptions. I wouldn't have mentioned anything to you unless I was absolutely certain of what I'd heard."

Lana's stomach turned, and she thought she might vomit. Her heart felt as if it were in a vice, being squeezed harder and harder until there would be nothing to keep it from exploding in her chest.

"I know," her words were barely a whisper, "I just... it's hard for me to believe."

"I understand," he replied, squeezing her hand comfortingly, "Denial is often the first step on the road to acceptance."

"I just don't understand," she looked up at him, shaking her head, "She's never said anything to me to indicate that she wasn't happy with our relationship."

"Unfortunately, Lana, many times, the first sign of dissatisfaction in a relationship is when the other member of the couple has already gone astray." He furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at her, "I'm so sorry to had to have been the one to tell you this. Please understand that I'm only telling you this because I admire you so much as a human being. You deserve so much better."

"Yeah," it was the only word she could manage to whisper without breaking into tears. She didn't want that, not right now with Dr. Thredson sitting here. Her head was still spinning, her heart aching with every beat. It couldn't be, she told herself. It was just a big misunderstanding. No matter what he had heard. Wendy wouldn't cheat on her. Wendy loved her. "I should really go."

She was up and out of his office within a matter of seconds, though Dr. Thredson followed her into the hallway, calling her name. She paused just before the staircase, turning to him.

"Dr. Thredson," she sighed, her voice trembling, "I understand that you're only trying to help. But you don't know what this has done to me. I just... I need to be alone right now, okay? Please."

"Okay," he nodded. "Please don't hesitate to call me if you need anything at all, Lana."

She felt herself nod at his words, making her way down the stairs and finding her way to her car. She wasn't sure how she made it home without wrecking her car, but by the time she pulled up to the curb she was trembling. Her feet carried her to the front door and unlocked it, stepping inside. She heard Wendy moving inside the kitchen and stumbled to the dining room table, falling into a seat, her head slipping into her hands. Wendy was singing a Dusty Springfield song cheerfully. Every note felt like the knife in her heart was being twisted.

When Wendy emerged from the beaded curtain that separated their kitchen from the dining room, she stopped, seeing Lana.

"You're home!" She said softly, immediately moving over to be near her. "Lana, listen, I want to apologize. I've been thinking about what you said, and I know that-" Her voice faded as Lana looked up at her, the tears already slipping down her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Lana shook her head, wiping at her eyes.

"Did Dr. Thredson call here for me the other day?" She demanded quickly. Wendy's eyebrows narrowed, her eyes lowering for a moment in memory before she shrugged.

"I think so, why?"

"And was Barb here when he called?"

Wendy blinked at her.

"Yeah, she was. She was helping me grade some papers, but... I don't understand..."

"God damnit, Wendy," Lana raised her voice suddenly, pushing herself up from the table and slapping her palms against the wood, "What were you doing?"

Wendy winced, her mouth falling open in surprise.

"Jesus Christ, Lana, what are you talking about?"

"Don't even pretend you don't know," Lana shot back at her, "You have the audacity to tell me that I'm pathetic for something? _You're_ the pathetic one, fucking her behind my back!"

Wendy's eyebrows furrowed immediately, her eyes widening.

"Fucking who- what?! What in the hell are you talking about, Lana?" She reached out for Lana, who pushed her away.

"Don't touch me," she spit the words at her, "You make me sick, you know that? Ten years together and this is what I get? I don't even want to see you right now, Wendy. Get out of this house."

Wendy stared at her, bewildered. She moved her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Lana, please," she whispered, her eyes full of confusion. "What did I do- where am I supposed to go?"

"Why don't you go to to Barb's?" Lana hissed at her. "I don't care where you go. Just get out of here."

Wendy stared at her in disbelief for a moment before breaking into tears, rushing out of the room and into the bedroom. Lana felt herself trembling, though she couldn't be sure if it was the anger or betrayal that left her so physically tormented. She dragged herself to the couch, her fingers trembling as she found the receiver of the phone. The tears were coming now without hesitation, and she dialed the number slowly. After two rings, the call was answered on the other end of the line.

"Dr. Thredson?" She asked, her voice trembling, "You were right. About everything. She didn't even deny it." She took a breath, breaking into a deep sob, "God, I don't want to be alone."

"You're not alone," his answer came immediately, "I'm here for you, Lana. Should I come over?"

She wept openly for a moment, her sobs broken only by the soft sounds of comfort coming from the other end of the line.

"Yes," she whimpered miserably. "Please."

"I'm on my way," he soothed her, his voice soft. "Don't worry, Lana. Wendy will get back all the pain that she put into your heart. I can guarantee that."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Spoilers: None. I mean, come on... at this point in the game, you guys know what's going on.

* * *

Lana met Dr. Thredson at the front door less than ten minutes after she'd called him. He greeted her speechlessly, moving toward her as the door opened and sliding his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. The hug caught her off guard and she stiffened against him, her arms pinned to her sides and her cheek pressed against him. He was a head taller than her and his chin rested on the top of her head for just a moment, his hands were holding her, his long fingers tracing the small of her back.

She thought about pulling away from his embrace; it seemed too much, even in this situation, but she suddenly realized how badly she needed this affection, whether it was from Dr. Thredson or a family member. The thought of fighting with Wendy left her feeling broken and empty inside, and his arms around her helped alleviate the pain of her heartbreak.

He pulled back after a moment, his dark eyes looking into hers.

"Are you okay?" His voice was sincere and full of worry. She forced a tiny smile to her lips before nodding.

"I'm okay," she sighed quietly, stepping back to allow him entrance. "Please come in, Dr. Thredson."

He stepped inside and she shut the door behind him. He stood awkwardly for a moment, and she noticed that, for the first time, he wasn't wearing a suit jacket. His white button up shirt had been untucked, the top three buttons pulled apart and his tie missing. She felt foolish, suddenly, for calling him up and begging him to come to her. What was she doing? Their relationship was supposed to be a professional one; it didn't consist of him coming to comfort her when she cried. Yet, here he was.

"Lana, I think we're beyond the formalities," he came to her, his voice soft, "Please call me Oliver."

She glanced up at him, his dark eyes, his intense gaze. She looked away, thinking of Wendy. Thinking of their fight. Thinking of how mere moments ago, she had been in her lover's arms. And now, here she was, wrapped in her own arms, her heart broken and head aching. Despite everything she'd achieved in the last few weeks, she'd eagerly rewind her life to before the point in time when everything had begun to go so horribly wrong between the two of them.

She felt his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. His face was so kind and sincere. He could see that she was in pain, she concluded. He was, after all, a psychiatrist. He was trained to detect the underlying feelings in other human beings.

"Let's sit on the couch," he suggested softly, guiding her to the sofa and taking a seat next to her. When they were both seated, he took her hand, covering it with one of his own. "Talk to me, Lana."

She hesitated for a moment and then blinked, the tears blurring her vision immediately. She shook her head slightly, trying to turn her gaze away, though his hand on her cheek prevented her from looking elsewhere.

"Tell me what happened," he encouraged her, "tell me what I can do."

Lana shrugged, sniffling.

"She didn't deny it," she admitted quietly, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. "I asked her about it and she just played dumb. She pretended she had no idea, but she didn't deny it."

He sat quietly beside her for a moment.

"Where is she now?"

"In the bedroom," she answered softly, her face flushing with hurt and anger. "I suppose she's packing to leave." She stopped speaking for a moment to collect herself, a small whimper escaping her. "God, I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be," he assured her quickly, his hand warm on hers, "Come with me. Come to my house."

"I can't," she refused, shaking her head gently, "I-"

"Why not?" He demanded, watching her, "There's more for you at my house than there is here at this point. Wendy can stay here. You can stay with me for one evening. I can't offer you much, but I can promise company, conversation, and possibly a glass of red wine."

She hesitated for a moment, her mind whirring. It sounded nice, she had to admit. She wouldn't be alone, but it didn't feel right. Something felt off about the whole situation, and she couldn't quite place her finger on what it might be. Perhaps it was the simple fear that she was intruding upon his privacy.

"I appreciate that, Dr. Thredson, but I... I can't." She wanted him to know that she was thankful, even if she was denying his invitation. It was kinder than he knew.

"You can," he urged her, "I have a spare bedroom. In fact, it's already made up. You'll have privacy, including your own bathroom." He watched her. "It would make us both feel better, Lana."

She felt herself beginning to give in, but fought the urge. It still felt like an imposition, even with such an invitation.

"You don't have to worry so much about me, Dr. Thredson. I mean it. I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I-"

Her eyes caught Wendy's form as she made her way out of the bedroom, clutching an overnight bag in her hands. Her gaze focused on Lana only for a moment before moving to Dr. Thredson. She paused mid-step, her eyes suddenly darker.

"What the fuck is he doing here, Lana?"

Dr. Thredson turned to look at Wendy, Lana looking between both of them.

"Wendy, Lana called me. She-"

"I didn't ask you, you son of a bitch," Wendy glared at him, "I was talking to my girlfriend."

Even amidst their fight, Lana realized how monumental it was that Wendy acknowledged their relationship in front of another human being. Still, the betrayal ached inside of her and she simply couldn't forgive her so easily now.

"I called him, Wendy. I asked him to come over." Lana raised her head, glaring at her, "Is that okay, or are you the only one allowed to have friends?"

"Friend?" She scoffed, dropping her bag on the ground and moving closer to Lana. "You think he's your _friend_? God, Lana, you're so deluded. You know, for someone whose job it is to follow your instincts, those instincts are pretty shitty."

Lana felt her lips part in pained surprise. She felt the tears welling in her eyes and the back of her throat.

"Wendy, please just leave. Please." The words didn't come out nearly as hurtful as she had intended them to be. The pain shone in Wendy's gaze and, for a brief moment, Lana hoped she would rush to her, take her in her arms, and tell her that it all been a huge mistake. That Barb meant nothing to her. That the only woman Wendy ever needed or wanted was Lana. But Lana's pride had already been damaged. It was too late for that now.

"I'm not leaving until he does," Wendy's gaze fell onto Dr. Thredson. "I don't care how mad you are, Lana. I don't trust him here alone with you."

"Well, that sounds like your cross to bear," Dr. Thredson spoke suddenly, his voice calm and even. "And despite our differences, I think we can both agree that Lana deserves better than someone who doesn't even hesitate to reveal her darkest secrets in the presence of a perfect stranger." He blinked at her, his lips turning into the slightest smirk. "Don't you?"

Wendy's lips parted, her eyes narrowing as she clenched her teeth.

"You son of a bitch," she spat the words at him, "you had something to do with this, didn't you? God damnit, Lana, do you not _see _what this man is doing? He's doing everything in his power to come between us!" She looked to her lover desperately, shaking her head. "Lana, please. Please, we can talk about this, okay? Just tell him to get out and we can talk everything over."

Lana watched her for a moment, her fingers itching to reach out and touch her. How she wished it would be so easy to take Wendy back into her arms, to ignore the words Dr. Thredson had told her in his office. It would be easy to pretend to forget. But it wasn't easy to get the thought of Wendy and Barb out of her mind. The idea of them in bed together, whispering frenzied words of passion before Lana made it home from work. She simply couldn't get those images out of her head. And that was what kept her from rushing to Wendy at that moment.

"He's right, Wendy," she heard herself saying quietly, her voice trembling. "I do deserve better."

Even as they slipped from between her lips, she wished she could take them back. Yes, Wendy had hurt her, but she had never dreamed of hurting Wendy. She had spent so much time worrying about and protecting the other woman that even saying the words broke her heart.

The expression that flashed across Wendy's face was worse than anything Lana could have imagined. Her mouth closed, lower lip quivering, eyes widened. She stood perfectly still for one, two, three seconds, before a shuddering sob tore through her lover and Wendy's hands went to her face, covering her eyes as she raced back into the bedroom. Even after her departure, Lana heard the other girl's sobs and knew that her body was trembling, that she had thrown herself onto the bed in a desperate attempt to quiet her tears, but it wouldn't work. Wendy had once told Lana that she was the only one who knew how to calm her when she got upset; she did and said all the right things, like no one else had ever been able to. But Lana wouldn't be comforting her tonight.

The very thought of the two of them being so close and yet so far apart tore something inside of Lana, and she felt the first hot tears slipping down her cheeks, her fingers curled in her lap. It took only a moment for Dr. Thredson to notice the tears as well, and he was moving closer to her on the couch, his arms encircling her waist and his mouth at her ear.

"Be strong, Lana," he whispered the words to her, and her eyes drifted close in an attempt to block out the sound of Wendy's misery. "You are a smart, determined, talented woman. You will not only endure this hardship, but you will come out of this situation stronger than you ever realized you could be."

The tears were still cascading down her cheeks, finding their way to her chin before dropping into her lap. His hand came from around her waist and he used his thumb to smoothe the skin just beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears before they had a chance to fall.

"Lana," he spoke her name softly after a moment and her eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark gaze. "That invitation to my house is still available."

She looked up at him, searching his gaze for any signs of teasing or insincerity, but found none. She nearly accepted, almost gave in to his invitation and followed him outside, but at the last moment, she shook her head.

"I'd like to be home tonight," she found her voice finally, though her throat still felt thick with tears. "I'm sorry, Dr. Thredson."

"It's quite all right," he said softly, unblinking as he watched her. "Another time, perhaps. Tonight, I'll be here for you."

"Thank you," she barely found the strength to whisper. She felt as if she needed to say something else, but couldn't find the words. His hand brushed her hair behind one ear, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"You're welcome, Lana. I hope I can do for you what you've done for me in the short time I've known you, though I'm sure that's impossible."

Her head was so heavy with pain and tears that she didn't question his words, she simply let herself give in to the relief of being accepted by someone at this time, which may have possibly been the darkest moment of her life. She let her eyes close for just a moment and felt his lips brush against the side of her face, close to her temple. It felt warm, and more importantly, safe. His lips remained on her skin for just a moment and she felt his hot breath against her. Her head lolled as he pulled away.

Her eyes remained closed for a moment, and she suddenly felt his warm hand upon her cheek. His thumb brushed the area just beneath her cheek bone. The touch was sudden but not unwelcome, and her eyes fluttered open slowly, just as his eyes met hers. He was impossibly close, his eyes dark and full of intensity.

"Lana," he said her name so softly that she felt as if she needed to lean forward to hear him. His hand remained on her cheek, his eyes scanning her face. "You're beautiful."

Her eyes lowered for just a moment, but he raised her chin with his finger and she met his gaze.

"It's okay to feel this way," he told her. "It's only natural." His eyes traced her lips. "It's only natural for a woman to feel this way about a man."

"Dr. Thredson..." she tried to find her voice, but felt suddenly weak. "I can't... I'm not..."

"You don't have to be anything," he told her softly, shaking his head. "Just be yourself, Lana. You're magnificent."

Lana's lips parted as she prepared to speak, but he was already so close to her and his lips found hers immediately. His fingers curled on her cheek as his lips pressed against hers, his other hand coming to rest on her leg.

Lana's heart raced in her chest as he kissed her, his lips so different from Wendy's. She wanted to push away from him, but at the same time, it felt like justice. Wendy had done this with Barb; had done _more_ than this with Barb. It was sweet revenge against her, even if she didn't know it was happening.

Though the kiss didn't stir the same feelings as a kiss from Wendy, she closed her eyes and let it happen. His lips moved so softly against hers, and she felt his hand creeping slowly up her thigh. Her hand slid down, resting on top of his hand in a casual effort to prevent his hand from moving further on her leg, but she didn't immediately pull away from the kiss.

She kept her eyes closed and felt his breath upon her skin. She felt his mouth opening against hers, attempting to slip his tongue between her lips, but it was too much for her. She had wondered... maybe even hoped that it would stir some sort of longing within her, but she felt nothing. Just as it had been with the boys she'd dated when she was younger.

She turned her head just as he paused to take a breath, her gaze lowering to the carpet, her feet, _anything_ but him. She felt her face burning with embarrassment and shame and heard his breath heavy in his chest, hand still resting on her leg.

"Dr. Thredson," she shook her head slowly, "I'm sorry. It's just not..."

"It's all right," he breathed after a moment, his eyes opening slowly. "I understand, Lana." His fingers rubbed her leg. "You should lie down and relax," he encouraged her, shifting so that she could curl onto the couch beside him. "I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight."

"You don't have to stay," she insisted, her voice quiet and breaking even as she shifted into a more comfortable position beside him. Her face still burned with an emotion that she couldn't quite place. Embarrassment, of course, and guilt nagged at the back of her mind. She was just as guilty as Wendy now. She could no longer play the role of victim, she realized, as she looked down at his hand on her leg.

She had allowed Dr. Thredson to kiss her. Not simply allowed him, she realized; she had almost encouraged it. She hadn't pushed him away, she had let his lips linger too long on hers, let his hand rest provocatively on her thigh. She felt sick suddenly, sucking in a deep breath before her body began to shudder.

"I'm staying with you," he hushed her as he placed a hand on her back, stroking her gently as tiny sobs wracked her body. "You can't lose me, Lana."

She didn't expect to sleep. She expected the guilt and betrayal of the past few days to smother her like a heavy blanket while she replayed all of the mistakes she'd made in her head, over and over. And it did, for a few moments. But her anger and resentment gave way to frustration, which gave way to exhaustion. Within ten minutes of closing her eyes, she felt Dr. Thredson's leg pressed against hers, his hand still rubbing small circles on her back. It was an incredible feeling of safety and warmth, despite the moment that had just occurred between them. And then she was asleep.

When she woke, she was alone on the couch. For a moment, as she blinked her eyes, the house was unnaturally quiet and she tried to remember why she was on the couch and not in her bed. The memory hit her in mere seconds and she sat up slowly, glancing around at the empty living room. Suddenly she heard a small clatter in the kitchen and hoped for a moment that it was Wendy, fixing breakfast before work, but then she heard a deep cough as Dr. Thredson cleared his throat before sighing. She sat for a moment and then quietly slid from the couch, moving slowly to their bedroom and peeking inside.

Wendy was no longer in the bedroom and the bed was made**. **Lana bit on her lip before backing into the hallway, colliding against Dr. Thredson's chest as he approached her from behind. She turned quickly to find him watching her.

"Are you all right, Lana?" He questioned, holding a spatula in one hand and eyeing her. "How did you sleep?"

"Oh," she sighed softly, letting her shoulders slump and suddenly remembering the night before, "I slept all right." She hesitated for a moment before glancing over her shoulder. "Did Wendy leave?"

"It would appear so, wouldn't it?" He asked, glancing into the bedroom, "But I didn't see her go. I fell asleep next to you on the couch for a few hours." A tiny smirk pressed across his lips. "I was with you all night."

She returned a tiny smile.

"I appreciate that. Um, I'm sorry about last night. I feel so foolish now. I just-"

"Don't feel foolish," he narrowed his eyebrows at her. "It was everything I dreamed it would be." He smiled gently at her. "Come on. I made breakfast."

Her lips parted in surprise but he was already making his way into the kitchen and Lana trailed behind him. The smell of french toast wafted from the stove but he had already set out two plates for breakfast and two glasses of orange juice. He pulled a chair out and offered it to her, taking the chair next to her.

She wasn't hungry; in fact, she felt nauseous, but the food was beautifully prepared and Lana could tell he had worked hard to ensure that she had a proper breakfast. The thought alone was enough to guilt her into eating. She picked up her fork and used it to cut off a piece of the bread, slipping it into her mouth.

"It's delicious," she smiled around the food as she chewed. He looked satisfied and began to eat. She took another bite, chewed, and swallowed before setting her fork on the table and looking up to him.

"Dr. Thredson, thank you for everything. I really appreciate all you've done."

"But?" He asked, watching her.

"But," she smiled gently, "I know you've got to be going. I think I'll just take the day off and try to sort everything out... between Wendy and me." She glanced down at the table. "No matter what she did, I... I still love her. I just need to speak with her."

His face fell for just a moment before he collected himself, raising his chin before taking another bite of his food. He chewed silently before swallowing.

"Lana," he warned softly, sighing. "I don't think it's a good idea to take the day off. When you're upset about something, your mind tends to overthink it. Going into work would be a good distraction, at least until this evening when you can speak with her." He took another bite of his breakfast. "After all, Wendy went into work, didn't she?"

"Oh," Lana spoke softly, "yes, I suppose she did." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Maybe I could reach her at school. I know her class has music at ten o'clock, and it's already-"

"You should wait to call her," he advised her, bringing her gaze back to him. "If you speak with her now, you might both be too upset to reconcile. Wait a few hours, until you get home from work. You'll both be more level-headed." He offered her a friendly smile, though his eyes looked dark.

"You're right," she nodded slightly, picking up her fork to take another bite of her food. "Of course you're right." She smiled a little, standing up and moving from the table. "I've got to get dressed and leave for work, then." She couldn't help the bounce in her step. She was going to get Wendy back. Yes, what Wendy had done with Barb was hurtful and terrible, but Lana had made a terrible mistake just last night. Wendy belonged with her. And she belonged with Wendy. They could work out their problems and spend their lives together, just as they'd dreamed of doing for years.

She hurried into the bedroom and changed into a different dress, making sure to attach the L pin Wendy had given her only a few weeks ago when things had been so different, so perfect between them. She emerged from the bedroom a few moments later, catching Dr. Thredson's gaze as she made her way around the house searching for the shoes she had discarded upon arriving home yesterday.

"Lana," he breathed her name, his eyes widening at her, "you look wonderful."

"I feel much better," she smiled bashfully, glancing down at her dress and attempting to avoid the memories of the previous evening, "Thank you. For everything, Dr. Thredson."

"You're quite welcome, Lana." He smiled at her for a moment, "Now, if you'll excuse me, you're right; I've got to be on my way." He began away and then stopped, turning back to her. "Promise you'll go to work, Lana? I don't want you sitting around here all day and moping. The distraction will be good for you."

"I'll go to work," she smiled, nodding. "I promise."

"Good," he grinned back at her. "I'll call you later. And Lana... I want to thank you for last night. It was incredible."

The rest of the day dragged by, and though Lana desperately wanted to call Wendy, she knew it would be better to wait. The conversation that awaited them was one that needed to be had in person, not over the phone. She needed to be able to touch her lover, needed to be able to kiss her. A phone call was too hard and impersonal.

She clocked out a few minutes early and hurried to her car, rushing home to find Wendy's car parked outside where it had been that morning. The sight gave her a rush of hope and she made her way inside, dropping her purse and calling out her girlfriend's name. Only silence greeted her.

She passed from room to room, poking her head inside, fully expecting to see the other woman stretched out on the bed or the couch, grading papers or even talking on the phone. But Lana quickly determined that Wendy wasn't home and retreated back to the dining room. She glanced at the clock; it was well past the time that Wendy usually arrived home from work.

Unless. Unless Wendy wasn't coming home tonight.

The thought made her feel sick to her stomach and she had to steady herself using one of the dining room chairs. God, Wendy probably wasn't intending to come home for a few days. She was probably at Barb's right now, cuddled next to her on the couch, getting ready to watch _I've Got a Secret_. It was one of their favorite television programs. They usually watched it together while snacking on their favorite, bowls of chocolate ice cream. But not tonight.

She sat in the nearest chair, letting her head fall into her hands. She'd spent the entire day thinking about what she'd say to Wendy, without once thinking that perhaps Wendy wouldn't be home to hear it. Now, she didn't know what to do. Without Wendy or Dr. Thredson in the house, she felt more alone than ever. The fleeting thought of the man being here with her instead of Wendy disturbed her.

Without even considering the repercussions, she moved to the telephone and lifted the receiver. Pausing for only a moment, she rang the number that she had often called in the past. Holding her breath for the first two rings, she let the oxygen out in a silent exhale as the line connected.

"Hello," she spoke after being greeted, "Barb, it's Lana."

"Lana!" Barb responded, "Hi. How are you?"

Lana narrowed her eyes as the other woman spoke. How _was she_? She was awful; feeling like shit and wanting nothing more than to bash the other woman's face in for everything she had done. Yet she couldn't find it in herself to be anything but lonesome for Wendy.

"Barb, I really need to speak with Wendy." She couldn't hide the distaste from her voice.

"Wendy?" Barb asked, the confusion evident in her voice, "I haven't seen her, Lana."

"What..." Lana paused, narrowing her eyebrows, "You mean she's not there?"

"Of course not!" Barb laughed softly, "Why would she be here, Lana? She's _your _girlfriend."

"I..." Lana tried to find the words, "I just thought maybe she came there... you haven't seen her?"

"Heavens, no. I haven't even spoken to her since Friday. Is she..." Barb paused, "Is everything okay?"

Lana's head was spinning suddenly. If Wendy wasn't at Barb's, she was out. Perhaps she went out with friends after work. Maybe she was on her way home at this very moment. The thought made her heart flutter. And if Barb hadn't seen her...

"We had a disagreement," Lana found herself saying. "It was... it was nothing. You're sure you haven't seen her?"

"Gee, Lana, why would I lie about seeing her?" Barb asked.

"I... I'm not saying you're lying, Barb," Lana responded, her voice cool, "but if she's there, and maybe she's upset with me, I just need to know. I just want to talk to her. Please."

"Lana," Barb repeated her name, her voice firm. "Wendy isn't here. She hasn't been here since the two of you came over for our Bridge game two weekends ago." She was quiet for a moment. "Didn't she come home from work today?"

"No," Lana said slowly, though the note of panic in Barb's voice raised a red flag in Lana's mind. "I just thought... maybe she was out." She swallowed, "Do you think I should be worried?"

"Honey, you've been together for almost ten years. Has she _ever_ not come home?"

Lana's mind flashed, running through the few arguments they'd had. It was true, she realized with a sudden horror, that Wendy had never _not_ come home. The thought filled her with a terror that she hadn't considered and she suddenly felt on the verge of tears.

"Should I call the police?" Lana wondered quickly, her face flushing with heat and worry.

"I don't know," Barb answered, "You could call the school tomorrow. If she isn't at work, you'll know something isn't right."

So Lana waited. She considered calling Dr. Thredson again that evening, but after the event that had transpired with him the previous night, she was hesitant to invite him back so quickly, lest he get the wrong idea about her feelings for him.

She spent the rest of the night dozing on the couch, waking suddenly whenever a car drove down the street or a dog barked outside. However, by the time the sun was in the sky and Lana woke up for the day, Wendy still wasn't home.

She was flushed with worry but managed to compose herself long enough to call her office and tell them she was taking a sick day. After she located Wendy, she intended to spend the entire day in bed with her, begging for forgiveness and promising her the world. That was if Wendy could forgive all the hurtful things she'd said and done.

Lana's hand found the receiver again, hesitating for a moment before spinning the rotary. She took a deep breath, calming her nerves as the secretary at the school answered the call.

"Hello," Lana greeted, "I'm calling to speak to one of your teachers. Miss Wendy Peyser, she teaches third grade. Can I... may I speak with her, please?"

"I'm sorry, miss," the older woman's voice returned, "Miss Peyser hasn't been in school this week. Can I connect you with her substitute teacher?"

Lana's stomach clenched, her face draining of its color.

"She hasn't... come to work?" It was suddenly hard for Lana to find words. "Did she call and say she wouldn't be in?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, miss. Who did you say you were, again?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lana covered herself quickly, "I'm... Miss Peyser's sister. We were supposed to meet for lunch today." She swallowed, her mouth suddenly as dry as cotton. "Did she say she wouldn't be in this week?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the older woman replied, "She simply didn't show up for work on Monday morning. We have another teacher covering her classes, though if you speak to her, please tell her to contact us, will you?"

"Yes," Lana found her voice after a moment, "I... I will. Thank you." The phone fell back into the cradle without a farewell. She felt herself shaking and her eyes caught glimpse of her hands, which were beginning to tremble.

Something was wrong. Wendy may not have come home last night if she was angry enough, but she loved her job. Teaching was Wendy's true passion in life, and there was no way she would abandon her students. She thought of them as her own children. Lana's first concern was no longer thoughts of cheating, but of Wendy's safety.

She had to call the police. It was no longer a question. Wendy wasn't at home, wasn't at Barb's, and wasn't at school. It had been more than a day since she had seen her girlfriend, and she wasn't any closer to finding her.

People would talk, she realized, as her hand hesitated on the phone. Once the police showed up, they would ask questions: _what is your relationship with Miss Winters? Does she have a boyfriend she might have gone to see? _She could already see the judgment in their eyes, the smirk playing on their lips. It would be risky to get the authorities involved, with Wendy being a schoolteacher, but... what choice did she have? She'd rather risk Wendy's career than her life.

Just as her fingers curled around the receiver, there was a knock at the door. She glanced up quickly, hope bubbling in her stomach. It could be Wendy. Maybe she had been so upset she'd needed a few days away from everything. Maybe she was coming home now, and things would go back to being the way they were before it had all gone so horribly wrong.

She pushed herself from the couch and hurried to the front door, pulling it open before even bothering to glance through the peephole. She pulled the door open, grinning, but froze when she saw Dr. Thredson, his head tilted as she looked at him.

"Oh," she said quietly, the sudden dissapointment nearly overwhelming her. His dark eyebrows knitted at her.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," he said softly. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Hmm?" She tilted her head at him. "No. It's not that, Dr. Thredson. Really, it isn't. I'm..." her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I'm just very concerned about Wendy. I can't find her. And she hasn't been to work."

"Have you contacted the police?" He asked, his eyes full of concern. He stepped forward, and, almost without realizing it, she stepped backward. She hesitated at the door frame, feeling as though it would be an invitation into her home if she backed up any further. She wasn't sure it was the right time for him to be here, especially considering what had recently gone on between them, but she was scared.

"I... I haven't, not yet," she admitted, meeting his eyes, "I was just about to call them. I'm just...I know it's going to raise a red flag, and I'd hate that for Wendy. It's going to create so much trouble for her." She blinked, realizing that tears had begun to sting her eyes. "I'm just so worried."

"Lana," he said her name carefully, glancing around them. "I understand completely. Listen to me. I have a friend who works at the police station. Detective Spiers. We'll call him, and I can assure you he'll handle this with the most discretion." He smiled gently at her. "Let me come in. I'll call him."

Something in the back of her mind told her not to allow him entrance. It wasn't anything she could place her finger on, but something felt off about the entire situation.

"How did you know I was here?" She asked, tilting her head at him. "I should be at work right now, yet you came right here without even calling."

He narrowed his eyebrows, dropped his gaze and finally glanced back up at her.

"I called your office looking for you," he admitted, his voice quiet. "There's something I need to talk to you about. It's urgent."

The desperate look in his eyes scared her, though something told her that she needed to hear what he had to say. She stepped back at last, allowing him to enter the house before shutting the door behind them. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a sudden chill in the air, possibly from allowing the cool fall air to slip inside with the doctor.

He stood in the house, glancing around casually before taking a seat on the couch.

"Lana, please. I think you need to be seated for what I'm about to tell you."

Her legs felt numb as she moved to the couch, sliding to a spot beside him.

"Dr. Thredson, please. I need to contact the police. Can we call your friend first, please? I'm very worried about Wendy."

"That's just it, Lana," he looked up at her, "What I have to tell you could be directly related to Wendy's disappearance."

Her mouth went dry as he looked at her. She sucked in a breath and felt her heart begin to race in her chest.

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't been at work today so you couldn't possibly know," he shook his head, "Lana, I think the police have made a terrible mistake." He leaned closer to her. "I don't think Kit Walker is Bloody Face."

Her chest rose and fell anxiously, narrowing her eyebrows at him.

"What... well then who is?"

"I don't know," he responded quickly, "but I don't believe that he's in captivity. I think he's still loose. And I think he's got Wendy."

Lana couldn't fight the gasp that slipped from between her lips, her head shaking as she pushed away from him.

"No... no! Don't say that!" She stood, chewing on her lip as tears blurred her vision. "Wendy's smarter than that. She has a very defined sense of intuition, she's too careful, she wouldn't let anyone hurt her-"

"Lana, this man has killed several women already. He _skins_ them and decapitates them. Wendy may be smart, but she isn't a match for this madman." He watched her as she buried her head in her hands, loud sobs wracking her body. He reached out for her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Lana, I shouldn't have said that. I just-"

"Just call your friend," she raised her head, shaking it. "Please, Dr. Thredson, I'm begging you. Call him. I need to help Wendy."

"Okay," he hushed her softly, "Okay, I'm calling." His hand fell to the receiver of the phone, though he hesitated before picking it up. She couldn't help the trembling that had overtaken her body and she sobbed openly. She felt his hand upon her head and glanced up at him. "Lana, I need you to calm down. I know you're upset, believe me, I do. But these hysterics won't help you, and, more importantly, they won't help find Wendy."

"I know," she took a shuddering breath, "I'm just so scared. I love her, Dr. Thredson."

His lips pinched together just slightly, his eyes narrowing a little before he nodded.

"I'm sure you do, Lana."

She watched as his hand moved away from the phone and she straightened her posture, shaking her head.

"What are you-"

"I'm going to fix you a nice glass of wine," he told her coolly, leaning closer to her. "It will help you relax while I talk to Detective Spiers. By the time he gets here, you'll be more calm and you'll be able to give him all the information they need to go out and find her."

Her hands trembled as he stood, straightening his suit jacket.

"I'll be right back," he promised her, disappearing into the kitchen.

She glanced at the telephone, listening as he popped a cork on a bottle of wine in the kitchen and shuffled through the cabinets for the glasses. She wet her lips, glancing back at the kitchen doorway before reaching for the telephone receiver. She couldn't wait for him. It didn't matter at this point if Wendy's reputation was sullied; her life was at stake. They could move to a different city, to a different state or even country, but they wouldn't be able to do any of that if Wendy never came home.

The receiver was pressed to her ear and her fingers had already begun dialing the number when two thick fingers pressed the disconnect button. She glanced up to see Dr. Thredson watching her, a glass of wine dangling from between his fingers.

"I told you I would make the phone call, Lana," he spoke, his voice dry. He sighed softly before taking a seat next to her and offering her the glass. She took it slowly from his fingers, her eyes locked on his. "Take a sip of your wine while I call him."

His hand pulled the receiver to his ear, his eyes falling to the rotary as he began to dial a number. Lana felt a sigh of relief pass through her, allowing a bit of red wine to pass between her lips and down her throat as he made the call. He smiled reassuringly at her as she took another sip.

After a few seconds, he frowned and placed the phone back on its cradle.

"What?" She asked, leaning forward, "You didn't even speak to anyone."

He was silent. He leaned his head forward, slipped his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I can't make that call yet," he told her, glancing back up at her.

She stared at him with wide eyes.

"Then I'm calling the police," she told him, reaching for the phone. His hand caught hers just before she reached the phone.

"I can't let you do that either," he shook his head. "Not yet." He moved closer to her, his hand falling to rest on her knee. She glanced down at his touch and then back to his face. Her heart pounded in her chest, her face flushed with worry and fear.

"What are you doing?" She asked, leaning away from him. His hand left her knee and caught the small of her back, preventing her from moving any further.

"Lana," he said her name breathily, his eyelids fluttering as he spoke. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Not since you kissed me."

"I... I didn't," she shook her head, eyes widening. "You kissed me, Doctor. I..."

"You didn't pull away," he finished for her, his other hand moving to stroke her cheek. "You wanted it just as badly as I did, I know. You did then, and you do now."

"No," she told him firmly, shaking her head. "I didn't, and I don't! I need you to-"

His lips were upon hers again, his hand tracing small circles on her back as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her hands came out to her sides and only seconds after she realized what was happening, she was pushing against him. Her hands found his biceps and attempted to push him away, though the motion only made him lean more into the embrace.

Searching desperately for a way to interrupt the unwanted attention, she used her hand to smack him hard against the face, sending him reeling back against the couch, his palm covering his cheek.

"You bitch," he spat the words at her, narrowing his eyes. "You're going to be sorry you did that."

"I am sorry," she hissed at him, "Sorry I ever trusted you. I thought you were different, but you're not. You're just like all of the other men in the world. All you want is to cop a feel and get me into bed. You're disgusting and pathetic. Get out of my house!"

She watched his chest rise and fall, the side of his cheek already pink from the slap. His hand lowered from his face and he stood.

"You led me on," he shook his head at her. His voice was eerily calm. "You're just like her. Just like my mother-"

"Your mother should be ashamed of you," she snarled at him. As soon as the words left her mouth, something in his gaze changed. His eyes became impossibly dark. His jaw clenched.

"Shut up!" He screamed at her, rushing towards her. She gasped, taking a step back to find herself pressed against a wall. Immediately, he was upon her, his hands around her neck, squeezing, squeezing. She tried to find breath through the sudden constriction but she could not. Her hands went to his, attempting to pull him away from her, but the very notion of her resistance only seemed to make him squeeze harder.

She began to hear her pulse pounding in her ears, felt the heat in her face and her eyes beginning to bug out of her head. She tried to kick him but he was too far away, and the light in her vision was already beginning to dim. Black spots began to appear at the edge of her peripheral vision and she kicked her legs again, one last time before the darkness overtook her.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, it's back!

Spoilers: This chapter is a little reminiscent of The Origins of Monstrosity and Dark Cousin, but I wanted to get all of the stuff that's already happened out of the way so that I could start to write what we missed in his basement. Enjoy!

* * *

Lana felt her consciousness shift back into her body slowly, as if she were awaking from a bad dream in which she was left unable to completely discern reality from a nightmare. She opened her eyes and _felt_ them open, but only blackness filled her field of vision and she felt panic rising in her throat as her hands reached out in front of her. She was _blind_.

A broken whimper escaped her throat as her hands groped the cool ground. The floor was hard beneath her and she couldn't think of any possible location that would explain the strange smell and unfamiliar-feeling surroundings.

"Help!" She let the word escape her, her voice cracking from either too much or not enough use; she couldn't be sure which. She tried to find her feet but she felt weak and shaky so rather than standing immediately, she pushed herself to her knees and felt a strange weight on her left ankle. Her breath was quick in her lungs, heart pounding in her chest as her hand fell down to her leg, fingers skittering to the unwieldy object locked on her bare ankle.

It was cool and awkward, possibly metal, and felt thick. Her fingers skimmed further down the object before finding the oval links and tugging gently on the chain. The chain wouldn't go far and she sensed that it was attached to something fairly close to her, so she followed the connection to a bolt on the floor, her fingers furiously pulling at the metal connectors to no avail.

"Oh, God," she whimpered, tears burning her darkened vision. "Please help me!"

There was a sudden and unexpected creaking noise above her and her head lifted at the sound, her eyes searching the darkness for the source. A heavy bolt was pulled back, a door opened and a sliver of light slid into the darkness. The sudden realization that she was not, in fact, blind came as such a relief to her that she nearly smiled into the dim light before the understanding that the door had not opened by itself. Heavy footsteps landed on the stairs before a voice came from the darkness as the door was pulled shut.

"Lana," came the baritone greeting and she turned her head quickly to the sound of her name, eyes searching wildly in the dark. The footsteps took three more steps before pausing. "I didn't want it to be like this, Lana. I truly didn't. I thought things would be different between us. I can see, now, that I rather foolishly misinterpreted your feelings for me." There was a quiet sigh in the blackness.

"Who is that?" She begged, disoriented and bedraggled on the floor like a peasant, hot tears beginning to slip down her cheeks. She was the very picture of the nameless victims she so desired to write about in her columns. "Please. I'm not... I'm nothing," she admitted softly, her head dropping, "I'm no one. I have nothing to give you!"

"Oh, but you do, Lana," came the smooth return, followed by another heavy sigh. "You have so much to give me. That's why I've brought you here." There was a silence, though she could sense the other person's stealth movements around her. She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily in a pathetic attempt to deprive herself of one of her senses despite the fact that, even with her eyes open, she saw nothing but darkness. "Close your eyes. I'm turning the light on."

She did as instructed, a part of her utterly relieved when the backs of her eyelids went from black to bright red with the introduction of light to her vision. She kept her eyes closed for another moment, feeling herself tremble. As long as her eyes were closed, she could pretend this was another nightmare; she would be able to avoid facing the consequences of whatever hell she had been thrust into. Opening her eyes would make it all too real.

Just as the intruder could read her very thoughts, the words came:

"Open your eyes. See me."

She couldn't find her voice to resist the man's commands, squinting against the bright light as her eyelids fluttered open. The white gleam of the tile floor was the first thing she saw, followed shortly after by the dull shine of hand tools hanging from a metal pegboard. She blinked rapidly, hurriedly glancing down at her slim ankle to confirm the large shackle locked firmly around her limb. A broken whine slipped from her throat as she ran her thin fingers over the heavy metal, tears swelling in her eyes.

"Have you ever truly seen me, Lana? For who I am? Not for the person you wanted me to be?"

At long last, her eyes found the disembodied voice, trailing up from his dark slacks to the white undershirt he wore, his dark hair, and thick round glasses.

"Dr. Thredson?" Her mouth formed his name in disbelief. "What-what is this? What are you doing?" It must be some sort of sick joke, she told herself, though the reasoning behind such a cruel trick evaded her like water slipping through the cracks in her fingers.

He pressed his lips together, eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head slowly.

"I'm afraid I'm not able to discuss that with you yet," he told her, skirting around the edges of the cold tile floor and keeping out of her reaching distance. "Your therapy isn't set to begin until tomorrow morning. I want to give you time to adjust to your new surroundings, you understand."

She lifted her head, her eyes caught on the sharp tools perched carefully on the peg board. They didn't appear to be any more sinister than the typical tools found in a man's basement, and yet their very presence in the same environment sent a rolling wave of nausea through her stomach.

"Dr. Thredson," she began, her eyes scanning the shackle on her ankle yet again before dragging her gaze back to him. "Please, Dr. Thredson, I don't-"

"Dr. Thredson," he spit his name back at her like a child who is told they must finish their vegetables before being allowed dessert. "Always Dr. Thredson. Never Oliver. Not once, Lana. Did you know that? You haven't called me anything but Dr. Thredson since the day we met. Even when I asked you to, you refused. It was like you didn't even hear me. You just kept on with the Dr. Thredson." She could see the heat beginning to rise in his face despite the darkness of the room. "Well, from now on, there is no more Dr. Thredson. Just Oliver." He stopped, crouching just out of reach of her, blinking at her, his face softening. "Just your Oliver."

Confusion clouded her face, eyes narrowing at him. She shook her head slowly.

"Oliver," she breathed his name out in an attempt to keep herself collected despite the fact that her heart was pounding out of her chest. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm sorry. I wasn't aware it meant that much to you... Oliver."

"Oh, don't patronize me," he hissed at her, rising from his crouch and passing her swiftly as he made his way to the pegboard full of tools. "It's too late for that now, Lana. I gave you your chance. No, no. I gave you multiple chances. I tried to encourage you, but I found myself failing, and that..." he reached out, ran his thick fingers along the the well-worn handle of a small bone saw. Her eyes widened before she glanced once more to the shackle that kept her attached to the floor. "That's simply not acceptable, Lana."

She looked up at him just as he turned back to her, their dark eyes connecting briefly.

"I don't..." she felt a shuddering sob building in her but fought it back, biting her lip. "I don't understand, Oliver. Just let me go, okay? Let me go home, and you'll never seen me again. We'll both forget all about this." Her fingers reached for the chain, her thin fingers wrapping around the rusted metal links. "Please."

She watched him swallow, his Adam's Apple bobbing in his throat as he watched her. She kept her eyes focused on his, nodding softly, begging him with her eyes, and it seemed to be working for a moment. Suddenly, however, he laughed bitterly, tearing his eyes from hers.

"That would be exactly the opposite of what I want, Lana. If I let you go, you'll be gone. Forever. And don't think I believe for a moment that the police wouldn't show up at my door as soon as you left. I'm no fool."

"No!" Her hand shot out in front of her as if she could prevent the very thought from crossing his mind, "I don't think you're a fool. I think you're very intelligent. I know you, remember?" She couldn't keep her voice from breaking as she spoke despite her vehement attempts to appear collected. "I know the real you."

His gaze widened at her for just a moment, kneeling closer to her this time. His fingers curled gently around the same chain she held, almost as if it were a spiritual connection between the two of them. His lips broke into a wide grin, and for a moment, she felt a rush of relief throughout her. However, the dark look that crossed his features told her this smile was not a benevolent one.

"Oh, Lana," he moved closer to her on his knees and she found herself attempting to skitter backwards and away from him, only to find her back pressed against an unknown surface that prevented her from moving further. His hand reached out and he hesitated for a moment, his fingers curling slightly before moving to cup her warm cheek. She flinched at the slight touch, a mixture of emotions passing over his face like clouds amidst the sky. "Lana, Lana," he repeated her name with a soft sigh, "You don't know the real me. But you will. After all, I already know your dirty little secret. Now it's time for you to find out mine."

"Is that what this is about?" She asked meekly, her voice trembling. "About my... sexuality?"

He laughed suddenly, slipping his hand away from her cheek and standing up.

"No. I could care less about your sexuality. Though, I must admit I felt the sting of rejection when you kissed me and then refused me." He let out a heavy sigh. "It's no matter. Sexuality is a fluid notion. I believe, with the right training, you could come to realize that your sapphic fascination is no more than a mere fixation."

Her chest rose and fell heavily at his words, and she was sure the panic that flashed across her face was the reason he giggled suddenly and quietly.

"I didn't bring you here for that reason, if that's what you're thinking. It just so happens to be a happy by-product of the actual reason."

"Oh, God," she whimpered again, squeezing eyes shut as tears seeped from the corners of her vision. "Please just let me go home." Her lips formed the words quietly. "Please, please."

"Jesus, Lana," his voice was suddenly loud and angry again, as if her simple pleas had snapped a cable that had been holding his composure together. "It's not that bad! I spent so much time preparing this place for you, and I bet you haven't even taken the time to look around."

"I've seen enough of it," she replied meekly, keeping her eyes averted from the wall full of sharp metal tools. "I just want to go home."

"You keep saying that word, but what I don't think you understand is that this is your home now." Her lips parted, breath increasing as panic coursed through her. His eyes raised from hers, focusing on a point in the room behind her. Trembling, she straightened her posture, turning slowly to allow her eyes to meet the same point in the room.

Her stomach turned when she saw their bed; the bed she shared with _Wendy_. The blankets were neatly tucked in place, the two bedside tables nestled beside the mattress, framed photographs casually lining the tops of the tables. She felt her stomach churning and began to heave, gagging desperately as the idea of her capture and confinement overwhelmed her. The thought of what he had done to- _Oh, God, Wendy_.

"Where's Wendy?" She choked on her sobs, tears blurring her vision. "What did you do with her?"

The corners of his lips curved into a smirk and he shook his head slightly.

"It's just the two of us, Lana. Wendy won't be coming."

"She'll come," Lana sobbed, the words catching in her throat even as she spoke them. "She'll come for me." Her girlfriend's name slipped from her lips in a quiet plea. "Oh, God. _Wendy_."

"Will she?" He smirked, his dark eyes shimmering behind his thick glasses. "I suppose we'll see, won't we?" He walked near the bed, picking up a framed photograph of Wendy wearing only a thin sheet, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips, her eyes shining with lust for the photographer. He traced his fingers carefully over the glass, and the sight of him oggling the private photograph of her lover would have been enough to send her into a rage had she been anywhere but in this moment. Instead, it took everything in her to fight the bile that was rising in her throat.

The very thought of his fingers on Wendy's face, Wendy's body, even this paper version of her... it was suddenly too much for her and she began to heave again, the anxiety and nerves flushing in her face as her stomach emptied itself on the floor. She gagged and coughed, saliva dripping from her acid-filled mouth as her stomach turned on itself, her eyes burning with tears.

"Oh," she heard him mutter in disgust as he glanced her way. She was on her hands and knees, dark hair hanging in her face as she coughed up the last of the contents of her stomach on the grimy tile floor. She felt foolish and resented her body's weakness to the sudden emotional duress.

"Lana!" He chastised her. She heard his heavy footsteps rushing across the room and the sound of thick rubber hitting the tiled floor. A loud squeaking sound drew her attention to him as his fingers worked on a red valve, turning it hurriedly to the left before water began to stream from the mouth of the hose, the pressure increasing quickly as the valve turned further. "I worked so hard to make this nice for you and you're ruining it!"

He aimed the hose towards Lana, the water's hard spray directed at the pile of vomit near Lana's feet. She shrieked at the sudden force of the liquid, scrambling backwards and sobbing quietly as she watched the bile rush towards the drains on the floor. Panic swelled in her throat at the sight of the metal grates as she tried to convince herself that the drains were in place for something other than the collection of blood. Oh, God, and Wendy... she could imagine the crimson essence of her lover swirling down that same drain, chased by the same water. She sucked in a shuddering breath, her body trembling.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, wiping desperately at her mouth and eyeing the liquid seeping down the drain. "I'm sorry... Oliver. I didn't..."

"You're apologizing again," he sighed loudly, working to roll the hose back into its position before looking up at her. "I don't like that. That's not really you, is it, Lana? You didn't get to be where you are, a woman in a man's world, while sniveling like that, now did you?"

She tried to contain and quiet her whimpers, but the tears flowed freely down her face, just as the water had poured from the mouth of the rubber hose. Her head dropped, dark hair in her face, as she realized for the first time that she was wearing a think silk nightgown that she had never seen before. Surely she would have remembered this odd article of clothing. He caught her studying herself and she heard him chuckle softly.

"Do you like it? I picked it out for you."

She looked back up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, her lips moving in a silent plea.

"What are you going to do to me?" It was the question repeating in her head, and though she was sure she didn't want to know the answer, she felt compelled to ask. He tilted his head at her, leaning down to her again.

"I told you, it's not time for that today. We have plenty of time to discuss your therapy. In the meantime..." he raised his eyebrows at her, "I'll bet you're hungry. You've been out for a while; longer than I expected, as a matter of fact."

"Where's Wendy?" She asked suddenly. The fact that her mind was focused somewhere other than food preparation seemed to alarm him for a moment and he narrowed his gaze at her. "What did you do to her?"

"What makes you think I did anything to her?" He wondered, his dark eyes searching her face. For a moment, she felt a glimmer of hope within her. Perhaps Wendy was still on the outside, coming home right this very moment and alarmed to find Lana missing. Perhaps she would call the police. The hopeful thoughts shimmered in her mind for a moment like sunlight casting off the water of a swimming pool, but a moment later Oliver's face broke into a slight grin. "She put up a hell of a fight, Lana. You wouldn't believe it." He leaned his face closer to hers. "She was calling for you the entire time."

Anger and despair bubbled inside of Lana and, without considering the consequences, she lashed out at him, her nails aiming for his cheek, desperate to rake the sharp edges down his face and leave him howling like a wounded animal. With lightening quick reflexes, he caught her hand in his own, curling his fingers tightly around hers until she whimpered.

"That was a very bad choice, Lana." He kept his gaze fixed on her. "I think you'll find that here, just as in the outside world, each choice you make has a consequence. And if you make a _bad_ choice, there will be repercussions." She watched his chest rise and fall with each heavy breath. "For example, that little stunt you just pulled with your fingernails? Another act of defiance like that and that chain around your ankle may be shortened by a few feet." He kept her hand tight in his grasp for another moment before finally releasing her and standing.

"I'm going to make you some food," he said after a moment, struggling to maintain the mask of composure that had slipped across his face. She pressed her lips together, watching as he turned and made his way up the concrete stairs. As soon as the heavy door shut behind him, she was on her feet, desperately searching for anything to free her of her shackles. She rushed immediately to the tool bench, but of course the chain was several feet too short. She glanced around hurriedly, panic rising in her throat at the thought that she was, indeed, trapped here. Her eyes fell on the framed photograph of Wendy and tears burned her eyes. God, Wendy. So beautiful, so sensitive... so right about everything. If she had listened to Wendy, they would be home in bed together right now, or perhaps just finishing dinner. Lana hadn't a clue of the outside world, even a notion as simple as time of day.

Her fingers reached out for the photograph, stroking her fingertips over the glass just as she had watched the doctor do. If he even was a doctor, she reminded herself. Everything she had known was a lie. Who was this man, this Oliver Thredson? How had he gained employment within the mental health system? Wendy's dark eyes brought her back to the moment and she studied the photo for a moment before placing a soft kiss on the other woman's forehead. A whispered 'I love you' to the photograph later, the heavy door at the top of the stairs was opening and he emerged carrying a tray with two plates nestled on it. She watched him, unmoving, as he carefully made his way down the stairs and placed the tray on his work table.

At the sight of her holding the framed photograph, he smiled.

"I see you're already enjoying the things I brought from your house. I chose that photograph especially. Something about the lust in her eyes... the soft curve of her bare shoulders... it's incredibly erotic, don't you think?" He giggled softly. "Well, of course you do. You're the one that took the picture, aren't you, Lana?" He grinned wolfishly at her. "I bet when you snapped that picture, you expected that moment to last forever. Isn't that the way it usually happens? Soon, that moment that you experienced is nothing but a memory." He smirked at her. "And one day the people are only memories as well."

He let out a soft sigh, preparing to cross the room to the tray when Lana called for him.

"Oliver?"

He turned to look at her, his eyes dark and guarded.

"What is it, Lana?"

"Why are you doing this?" She realized, as the words left her mouth, that she hadn't asked them up to this point. The question seemed to please him and, just as she had hoped, he began to move toward her.

A soft smile pressed across his lips, his eyes softening somewhat as he watched her. Lana watched him cross the room, coming to stand at the edge of the bed before eventually perching on the edge.

"The answer to that is more than a little complex, Lana," he spoke softly, "I'm not sure you're ready to hear it just yet."

"Please," she whispered, her eyes fixed on him. "Please, Oliver. I deserve to know why I'm here. At least give me this."

She could see the resolve fading quickly in his eyes, even as he fought against it. He blinked and, for a moment, she saw nothing but confusion flash across his face. The briefest moment of humanity was quickly replaced with the same dark look in his gaze. The humanity was gone.

"I've been looking for you," he admitted softly, a cruel smirk playing on his lips, "You don't know how long I've been trying to find you."

"Why me?" She asked, her voice breaking. "I have nothing for you."

"No, Lana," he moved closer to her, "You have so much for me." His eyes traced the length of her body and she sucked her breath in, his fingers curling out to reach her. She clenched her teeth together as his fingers traced her jaw, his eyes closing briefly as the warmth radiated from his touch. "However, there is one thing I need from you before anything else. I need you to write my story."

"I'm writing it!" She gasped out, choking on the tears that wouldn't cease, "Remember? The article? Everything you say, I'll write it for you, I'll-"

"That's not my story," he shook his head slowly. "That's your story." He sighed softly. "But it's not time for that yet, I suppose. You haven't even been here a full day yet. I should give you more time." His fingers lingered on her cheek for another moment, Lana's own fingers curling against the glass of the photograph frame. His fingers dropped from her cheek and he began to turn away to return to the tray of food he had prepared for them.

"Oliver," she spoke his name again and he turned, barely glancing at her before Lana's hand smashed the glass frame into the side of his face. He cried out suddenly, his hand grasping his cheek just as Lana pushed herself up from the floor, hesitating for just a moment when she realized that she was still chained. She chewed on her lip before crouching beside him hurriedly, her fingers attempting to search through his pockets for any means of unlocking the shackle. She hadn't prepared for such a brief incapacitation and he grabbed her arms, throwing her on the floor beneath him. His crimson blood smeared on her skin as his hands held her down. She writhed beneath him, hoarse screams escaping her throat as she struggled beneath his grasp. He delivered a swift kick to her stomach and she cried out, curling onto her side in pain as her breath was taken from her. She gasped, desperate to bring air back into her lungs as he straddled her hip, his fingers working quickly on uncapping a needle and syringe that had been just out of her reach.

She attempted to throw him off of her, but he was so much heavier than she, and the feeling of oxygen deprivation left her feeling weaker than she had known was possible. She felt him brush the nightgown over the top of her thigh and a second later, a sharp sting as the needle slipped into her skin. The effect of the mysterious liquid that slid into her veins was felt almost immediately, and Lana felt her muscles beginning to twitch as they relaxed against her will. One hand reached out almost involuntarily, searching for the photograph of Wendy, not to use as a weapon but a simple coping mechanism, just as a devout person might reach for a rosary, but Oliver's foot kicked it out of the way. He stood, dragging her by her wrists to the edge of the bed before hooking his hands under her knees and tossing her onto the mattress. She groaned, her head lolling as he pressed his knees against her wrist to keep them still before using restraints against her free limbs. When she was securely attached to the mattress, he stood back, breathing heavily, his dark hair falling into his face and blood dripping from the wounds on his cheek.

"I warned you about disobeying me," he told her quietly, crossing the room to the tool bench and pulling out a large metal bowl. She watched in a state of half-consciousness as he reached into the bowl and retrieved a lump of dark material, molding it in his hands. He slipped the lump over his head and turned. Lana quickly realized that it was not, indeed, a lump of anything, but a dark and hideous mask. Its eye holes revealed his own dark eyes, the face of the mask covered in a mixture of grime and blood and smelling of death. Its mouth was a simple gaping hole, lacking lips or teeth. The breath began to filter back into her lungs suddenly and she gasped, her fingers curling on the sheets in a desperate attempt to pull herself free from him.

With the mask securely on his head, he rejoined her in the bed, one knee holding her down.

"This could have gone two ways, Lana. I didn't intend to hurt you, but we can certainly take that path if you're so inclined." He leaned down close to her, the dirty, knotted hair of the mask falling in her face. She tried to turn her head away but he caught her jaw with his hand, turning her eyes to him. "Do you truly want to know what's going to happen to you?" He wondered, tilting his head. Her eyes blinked lazily even as she struggled to stay awake.

"You're going to write my story. And you're going to write exactly what I tell you to write. You're going to be exactly what I need you to be. And then when I'm finished with you..." he took a deep breath of her, his eyes closing in sheer pleasure. "I'm going to use your body for my own needs." His fingers brushed the skin of her arms, held apart by leather restraints. "Your skin will make a fine lampshade, your skull a candy dish. And your teeth..." he pried her lips apart with his thick fingers, "My mask will finally be complete, thanks to you."

She trembled beneath him, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, her voice all but taken from her.

"You went looking for Bloody Face, Lana, and guess what? You found him."


	9. Chapter 9

"Lana," his voice called from the top of the stairs as the shutting of the heavy metal door jarred her from an already restless sleep. She squinted against the harsh lighting, rising quickly from her spot in the bed and wiping the sleep from her eyes. God, how she wished those lights would just turn off for five _fucking _minutes, but no. Since they'd come on, they hadn't gone back off. She craved the darkness. It would be so easy to slip into blissful ignorance without seeing his various tools of torture. She listened warily as he pounded down the stairs, a large object in his hands. She sniffed the room suddenly, a familiar scent overwhelming her as she tried to place the pleasant odor. "Lana," he repeated her name as he stood before her, waiting impatiently as she roused from her sleep. "Today is the day."

She took a shuddering breath, taking in her surroundings before allowing a desperate scream to escape her throat. She had hoped so much that this was a bad dream, a nightmare that she would eventually have to awaken from. The fact that, upon waking, she still found herself in this God-forsaken lair confirmed her fear that this was not, in fact, a place she would be able to escape so easily.

He screamed with her suddenly, throwing his arms out like a mad man. His dark brows furrowed, eyes darkening as he watched her quiet into silence.

"It doesn't matter, Lana! Scream all you want! In fact, I'll scream with you!" His deep voice boomed through the small area, causing her to recoil against the white sheets, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She trembled, watching him approach her. His face was contorted into such anger; anger she hadn't seen in anyone up to this point. Suddenly, he paused, let out a deep sigh, and swallowed. His eyes closed for a brief moment. When they opened again, a tiny smile had begun to slip across his face. "The basement is sound-proof, of course... I'm not an idiot."

"Basement?" She whimpered quietly, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. A hint of amusement flashed across his face.

"Yes, my only thing above us is my home, and I can assure you that no one save me will hear you."

She tried to protest him, but the words wouldn't come... her throat felt dry and as if she had swallowed wool. Instead, she shook her head quickly, tears already brimming her red-lined eyes.

"Now, as I was saying," he composed himself, turning his back on her to tend to a hot-plate behind them. His fingers worked quickly and she sat motionless in the bed, waiting until he turned back to her. He slipped a finger into his mouth, grinning at her. "French toast. You liked it so much when I made it at your house the other morning... I figured I'd make it again."

Had it really only been _the other morning_? It had felt like lifetimes that she'd been trapped in this place. The fact that it had only been mere hours left her feeling sick and more hopeless than previously. He approached her quickly, clambering onto the bed and she pushed herself back quickly, though he stopped once he reached the edge of the mattress. He tucked his feet beneath him, folding his hands in his lap as he watched her terrified face, smiling slightly.

"Today is the day," he repeated, his eyes shimmering with excitement. "The day I've awaited for so long." His grin grew, narrowing his eyes at her fondly. "The day you'll begin writing my story."

He pushed himself up from the bed quickly, moving to the steel counter where he had abandoned the heavy item he'd carried down. He slipped his arms beneath the item, carrying it carefully over to the bed and placing it at Lana's feet, above the blankets of the bed.

She blinked, her eyes scanning the typewriter before looking back up to him, her eyes full of questions. At the blank look on her face, he sighed, dropping his head and throwing his hands out dramatically.

"Lana. It's a typewriter. You're a writer. You know what to do with it."

She looked up at him, shaking her head slowly, her mind whirring with confusion and fear.

"I... I don't..." she shook her head quickly now, "I can't..."

Anger clouded his face quickly, eyebrows furrowing.

"What do you mean you _can't_?" He spit the word back at her, his expression growing dark once again. "Lana, you will. I brought you here because I knew you were the only person in the world who would be able to do my life justice. I've read your articles, remember? I've seen the way you use words to spin these fantastical worlds. The way you used words to condemn Kit Walker to spending the rest of his short life in prison. Until they electrocute him. For being Bloody Face." He grinned lopsidedly, tilting his head at her. "So I think you _can_ write my story, and in fact, I know you _will_."

Lana sucked her breath in quietly, watching him as she released it. She felt the panic rising in her throat, but her hands reached for the typewriter. Her fingers gently brushed over the keys, mind whirring as she wet her lips.

"I... I can't just start writing," she told him after a moment, shaking her head, "I have to take notes, make a plan of what I'm going to type." Her breath was shallow in her throat. "You understand that, Dr. Thr-" she caught herself before the words slipped from her lips, "Oliver." Her eyes raised to his cautiously, "You don't begin writing case files without a few notes first?"

The resolve in his eyes faded quickly, a frustrated sigh slipping from his lips as his head drooped.

"Of course you're right, Lana. After all, you are the writer. I have some paper upstairs..."

"My notepad?" She asked hopefully. It was nothing that could help her now, a few papers bound together with glue, but it was something from home. Something that would smell like her house, maybe like Wendy. Some part of her previously idyllic life to remember in this new hell. "Do you have my notepad?"

He watched her for a moment, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips as his eyes studied her, undoubtedly trying to determine if this was a ruse to distract him.. He nearly began towards the stairs before returning to Lana, moving the typewriter out of her reach and crossing the room to turn off the hotplate.

"I know where it is," he answered her finally. "I'll be right back."

He ascended the stairs quickly, leaving Lana alone in the deafening silence of the confined space. The hot plate sizzled softly for just a moment before that sound, as well, had quieted. She sat still, hands in her lap, her mind working furiously with the few precious moments she had. If she could find something... anything to slip into the padlock, or even something with an edge to saw through the metal... but there was nothing.

A faint scratching noise drew her attention from her plans, and she turned her head to the sound. Her eyes scanned the shadows of the room, but she saw nothing. Each tool, each heinous item, was placed meticulously in its own spot. No clutter rested in the corners of this dungeon. There were no places for rodents to hide, yet she couldn't shake the thought of beady eyes watching her from the darkness.

Just as the heavy steel door opened at the top of the stairs, the noise ceased and her dark eyes raised toward the sound. He raced down the stairs, clutching her slim notepad in her hand and grinning at her. Undoubtedly pleased she hadn't moved from her spot. She hadn't tried to escape.

"Here," he offered her the pad, hesitating at the edge of the bed for a moment before crossing to the hot plate. Using a spatula, he scraped at the pan and filled two plates with french toast. He crossed the bed to her, balancing carefully. He slid the tray onto the bed and scampered onto the mattress as well, crossing his legs beneath him. He offered one plate to Lana, as well as a spoon. She eyed the utensil before looking back up to him.

"I'm obviously not going to give you a fork and a knife," he almost giggled the words, as if there was something humorous about the idea of a grown woman handling silverware. _Oh_. The realization hit her suddenly. There _was_ something funny about it to him, because it would have been a tool to use to her advantage. A spoon would inflict no damage upon her captor. That was the joke.

Her eyes lowered to the french toast, her nostrils filling with the aroma that had wafted through her house not two days ago. Then, the smell had made her stomach rumble with hunger and delicious anticipation. Now, the same smell filled her with dread and nausea.

"It's a little burnt," he spoke softly, his voice almost apologetic. He glanced up at her. "You can scrape the dark parts off if you'd like, Lana."

She chewed on her lip, her eyes fixed on her plate but seeing nothing. The desperation in his voice as he referred to the food struck her as odd, seeing as how he had her completely at his whim at this moment in time. He had shamelessly chained her to a bed, yet was apologizing for burnt food. He watched her silently for a moment, and when she made no move to eat, he began to speak quickly.

"The first thing you should know about, Lana, is that I've always been very determined. I was determined to grow out of the system, to make something of myself. I was determined to make a difference in the lives of my patients. And I have."

Her eyes raised to his and she sat still for a moment before realizing that he was expecting her to take notes on his words. Her hands grasped for her notepad, curling her fingertips around the familiar feel of its pages. As she opened the small cover, her eyes scanned the notes she had taken over the last few weeks. The first page was filled with scribbles and hurried names and numbers of authorities. That had been the night she'd first heard of Bloody Face from the safety of the radio in her home. And now he had her in his clutches.

"When I make my mind up about something, it's a done deal. Whether or not I'll be able to attain it isn't an issue. It's a matter of _when_ I'll attain it." He raised an eyebrow at her and her eyes met his over her notepad. Her hand worked to scribble on the page, and she saw the corner of his lips turning into a smirk. "But I guess we should start at the beginning, shouldn't we? Isn't that where all good stories start, Lana?"

She found it in herself to nod slightly, her chest heaving with untold anxiety. Her two front teeth worried her bottom lip, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of concern in his eyes. As quickly as it appeared, however, it was gone. His dark gaze was back. She quickly realized that she needed to engage him. If he didn't think she was interested or concerned, he'd quickly lose interest in her. And losing interest in playing with new toys often meant renewed interest in destroying them.

"Tell me about your childhood," she managed to get the words out, hoping they didn't sound too forced or trite. His mouth was full of french toast, chewing slowly, though when she spoke, his jaws stopped moving. He swallowed after a short moment, keeping his gaze fixed on her the entire time. "Your mother. Tell me about her." It felt odd, that his very profession consisted of asking questions and determining levels of emotional dysfunction and yet here she was, asking him of his history.

At the mention of his mother, his eyes darkened suddenly. His face flushed pink, dark eyebrows furrowing.

"My mother," he half-spat, half-laughed the word back at her. "I would love to tell you about her, but I know nothing. I didn't have a mother. At least not one that took any stock in my existence."

Lana's eyebrows furrowed now, blinking once, then twice.

"But... her photograph? The one in your office?"

He shook his head, smirking at her.

"That wasn't my mother. My mother abandoned me before I was even old enough to hate her for it. All I could do was cry, beg her to stay. But she didn't." He swallowed hard, glancing away from her for a moment before he looked back to meet her face again, his gaze hardened.

"When did she leave you?" Lana asked breathily, swallowing hard. His dark eyes rose to the ceiling, eyes already shiny with unshed tears. Part of her wanted to backtrack and change the subject, but another part of her believed that if she could get him involved in such an emotional conversation, she might have a chance of appealing to the humanity within him. The humanity she had been so sure had existed just two days ago.

"I was three years old," he answered too easily, almost as if he had been waiting a long time for someone to ask the very question. His eyes closed in quiet remembrance. She took the opportunity to look away from him and down to her notes. Her words were sprawled lazily across the page. "My mother took me to a park. She sat me on a bench, and I remember watching her cry. She told me to close my eyes, that we were going to play hide and seek. So I did. I never heard her start counting. When I opened my eyes, she was gone." He opened his own eyes after a moment, as if the film had stopped rolling in his mind, the curtains were falling. He blinked at her. "The police found me. I didn't know my mother's name, so they had no idea who to look for. They took me to St. Ursula's Home for Lost Children." He moved his eyes to hers, as if he were waiting for a response of some sort. Lana watched him uneasily, the pain evident in his eyes. She held her breath, unsure of how to approach his words or even begin to form any type of response.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, shaking her head a little. Her pen twitched in her fingers. "That must have been awful-"

"My mother was a cold bitch," he cut her off, his voice suddenly cold. "She left me home alone. She never hugged or kissed me. She didn't know how to love anyone but herself." Bitterness tinted each spoken word. "But she was still my mother. I would have rather been unhappy with my mother than happy in that damned orphanage."

An idea struck Lana suddenly, and her fingers began to work the pen quickly against the pad of paper. She registered his voice in the back of her mind, but her fingers were working quickly, desperately scribbling words that she wasn't sure she'd be able to get to the outside world. She allowed herself to dispute the doubt in her mind long enough to foolishly scribble an impromptu help note, including Dr. Thredson's name, and her own. Maybe if she could somehow sneak it upstairs, slip it out the window... someone could find it. Perhaps that someone would be a reader of her column. Maybe...

"You're not listening," he accused her suddenly, and her eyes drew back to his quickly, nodding fervently.

"I am!" She defended, suddenly flipping the page in her notepad and scribbling a few words she'd caught leaving his mouth, "I'm taking notes, Dr. Thred- Oliver. Please. Continue."

Her heart raced in her chest as he narrowed his gaze at her, watching her silently for a moment before blinking.

"What was it like growing up in the orphanage?" She asked quickly, and then, in an attempt to prove her attentiveness, she added, "St. Ursula's?"

"It was horrendous, of course." He raised an eyebrow at her, tilting his head slightly. "Though you already knew that, didn't you, Lana?"

She blinked at him.

"I'm not sure what you mean... Oliver."

His fingers pressed together, hands folded in his lap. The interest in his food had faded long ago.

"I found some public records. About you. Before I agreed to meet with you. Columns that you'd written in the past, articles you'd collaborated on." He smiled slightly. "You covered the orphanage's annual carnival two years ago. It's the event they use as an excuse to parade the children around like show ponies... getting their hopes up for adoption only to have to spend another night in that poor excuse for a group home. You wrote that the children were happy, well-provided for. That the sisters in charge seemed competent and loving. You lied, Lana."

She blinked at him, so taken aback by his sudden revealed interest in her.

"Why did you lie?" He demanded. "I grew up there. The same women who raised me are still there. They don't care about the children whose lives they are molding or destroying."

"I- I didn't..." she began to defend herself, stammering. "I just assumed that they-"

"You assumed," he repeated her word, "You didn't know. You didn't speak with the children, or take the time to find out what it was like for them. You thought you knew; that you could tell just by looking at them if they were all right."

He tilted his head at her, that sickening smirk still playing across his lips.

"That method doesn't really work for you, does it, Lana? The whole accepting the truth as you see it?" He moved closer to her, setting their plates aside on the mattress. "Not that you'd have found anything on my record if you had bothered to check. I've upheld my Hippocratic oath to the highest standard. I, however, am not as trusting as you. I can't take anything for granted." He was silent for a moment, his dark eyes roving her body. His thick fingers reached out to touch her collar bone, and she shuddered as he traced his fingers down her chest, eyes watching hers intensely. "For instance, I could assume you have a fully functional, beating heart just beneath your sternum, but if I don't make that first slice through your porcelain skin, I'll never know, now will I?"

Silent tears welled in her eyes as her heart rate increased. His sudden closeness to her filled her with fresh panic though his fingers curled into his palm and he retracted his hand from her warm skin.

"Don't worry," he whispered to her, "that won't happen for a long time. There are so many things I need from you first." He grinned brightly, the darkness gone from his eyes for a moment. "Show me what you've written."

She tried to flip through the notepad, desperate to keep it from his view but he snatched it from her hand. She made a move for it and he pinned her down with one hand, using his other to turn the pages.

"_Bloody Face, Bloody Face_," he read to himself as he scanned through the previous pages, "Oh, you thought you had everything figured out, didn't you?" He glanced up at her, giggling softly, before he turned to the page she had been scribbling on desperately. The page with both of their names and a hurried plea for help and rescue.

In his face, she could see the moment that his brain registered the written words. Eyebrows knitted, eyes narrowed. His full lips turned slightly downward before glancing back up at her.

"What's this supposed to be?" He wondered, holding the page up to show her. "_Help me. Lana Winters. Being held captive by Dr. Oliver Thredson. Send police._" His stare didn't waver from hers. "How exactly were you expecting someone to get this?"

In her panicked state of mind, she hadn't expected him to see the note. Now, expected to come up with an explanation for it, her mind was blank. It was all she could do to fight hyperventilation. Beg for her life. Beg for forgiveness; anything that might distract him for one moment more. As she opened her mouth to speak, however, his face changed. The anger faded from him. He closed his eyes and reopened them a moment later, his eyes meeting hers. The hatred and disgust were gone, replaced with a muddled confusion.

"You weren't ready," he told her, his hand holding the notepad for another moment before tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. "You weren't ready for this. It's my fault. I thought you would be." His hands were around her ankles suddenly and she shrieked as he pulled her down onto the bed and onto her back. She began to whimper desperately as his hands skimmed her body, but he moved beside her on the bed, turning her and curling behind her, his hand resting on her hip. She took a shallow breath, clenching her teeth as she waited for his next move, but nothing came. Instead, she felt his head nestle into her back, pressing against her shoulder blade. His knees pressed against the back of hers, she felt his warm breath on her neck.

"I shouldn't have rushed you," he told her, his voice low. "There's plenty of time for my story to be written. I have you for as long as I need you."

His words filled her with panic and an innate feeling of isolation. She felt silent tears slip down her cheeks as he held her around her waist, securely chained to the bed by one ankle.

He laid pressed against her for so long that she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Her head had started to become fuzzy, mingling with the odd state of disorientation that occurred right before she fell asleep. She felt herself slipping into the sweet abyss of sleep, despite the fact that she could feel him against her, when his voice spoke to her again.

"Lana, I'm going to give you a choice."

A choice. The word brought her back to her disheartening reality, but it also offered a glimmer of hope.

"I brought you here for more than your writing. I could have found anyone to write my story, but I feel connected to you. It's something you might not understand right now. However..." he pushed himself closer to her, though Lana hadn't believed it would have been possible. "Here's your choice. You can either play this role of the desperate woman held captive by a madman in his basement, if you believe that, or..." he was quiet for a moment, and then his head popped up from behind her. His cheek rested on her shoulder. "Or you can fill the role of the one person I've always needed in my life, the one person I've never had. My mother."

His words caused a sharp sob to tear through her and she took a gasping breath. Her sobs must have alarmed him and he sat up quickly, turning her in the bed and straddling her waist, his thumbs wiping desperately at the tears slipping down her cheeks.

"No, don't cry," he soothed her, shaking his head. "Don't cry."

"You can't make me choose this," she begged, struggling under his weight, "Please, Oliver. I'm not your mother."

"Shhh," he hushed her, his fingers covering her mouth. He leaned into her, his weight resting on her abdomen. "Don't cry, Mommy. Please don't cry."

The word alarmed her, her eyes widening as she looked up at him. Tears brimmed her eyes again, and the smile on his lips grew.

"Your baby boy is here to take care of you." He leaned into her, placing a soft kiss on her jaw line. "I've been searching for you forever. And now that I've found you, I'm never letting you go."


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you again, Jess. I'd be lost without you!

I own nothing.

* * *

A small alarm clock sat on the edge of the bedside table. One of its hands moved with each minute that passed and Lana listened to the quiet ticking among the deafening silence that resounded throughout the basement. Oliver hadn't come down since early this morning; he'd woken her up around 7:45 this morning, according to the clock, and had given her eggs and toast before heading to work. The clock's hands now read 8: 39 PM, and he hadn't yet returned. She had been listening closely for the sound of his footsteps above her head or the sound of the heavy door at the top of the stairs opening, but only silence greeted her.

Despite herself, her stomach rumbled with hunger and she glanced desperately toward the plate he'd left her with this morning. Nothing but a few crumbs remained on the plastic dish but she swiped a digit over the plate, catching them on her index finger before pushing the plate away from her.

She shifted in the bed and the chain on her ankle caught on her skin, a sharp, painful hiss slipping through her teeth as she glanced down at the raw wound beneath the shackle. She reached down, gently slipping the metal cuff down just slightly in order to study the raw skin beneath. Her skin had been rubbed raw in spots, shiny with specks of blood. It stung so badly that she considered tearing off a piece of the nightgown Oliver had supplied her with, just to create a barrier between the wound and the metal. She quickly realized, however, that she needed every inch of material possible to separate herself from Oliver's roving hands.

It was difficult to keep track of days, even weeks, when she was secluded from any sort of outside contact or natural light. She could judge the gauge of time only by the hours on the clock and how often he came and went. Oh, but she couldn't forget the words she had written. They were the one system of measurement that she could control, even though Oliver struggled daily to take that from her, as well.

So far, she had typed fifteen pages on the typewriter. So many words. Words about his past, his present, his future. Words that described the pain he had endured as a child, the emptiness he felt growing up without a mother. Words that were beginning to lead into his career choice as a psychiatrist and his experiences in medical school. There were, however, no words that described this. She hadn't typed a single sentence regarding his little torture chamber, or the way his eyes scanned her body shamelessly. Not a paragraph about the fact that he removed women's skin while they were still alive and struggling beneath him. That, long after their lungs had stopped gasping for breath, he would slip the skin over his own face, dark eyes peering out from gaping holes in the crudely assembled mask.

Of course those details weren't included in the book. She had recognized, days ago, that this book wasn't about his descent into madness at all. It was, in fact, the tale of someone who had been abandoned as a child and, through the ashes, rose into a phoenix of a man. The story, for that's all it was at this point, portrayed him as a man who had shed his unfortunate beginnings just as a snake sheds its skin, emerging later as a shinier version of himself. It was enough to make Lana's stomach turn.

He dictated to her certain things, experiences he wanted to ensure were written exactly as he claimed to remember them. Other times, he let her use her skills as a writer to report the essence of the truth. However, he read everything she wrote. Not a word, or even a letter, managed to slip by his overbearing sight. If she even tried to slip in a fragment of the truth, she knew there would be hell to pay. And, despite everything, she still wanted to live. At least for now.

Though the manuscript grew nearly every day, she estimated it to be somewhere around five thousand words. Five thousand lies. Five thousand chances she'd had to warn others of his danger... to save the lives of unsuspecting women. Like her. Like Wendy. Five thousand times she'd let cowardice overrule the passion she'd once felt to be a martyr.

Sounds above her head caused her to raise her eyes to the ceiling, drawing her attention away from the thought of her lover-in-absentia. His steps were hurried overhead, crossing the floor above before she heard him approach the heavy door at the top of the steps. Silence for a moment before the door opened and he hurried down the stairs, breathing quickly as he found her watching him from bed. He still wore his suit coat, though it looked as if he had been struggling to remove his tie. His dark hair was disheveled and he ran a hand thoughtlessly through the strands that fell into his face.

"Lana," he gasped her name, moving toward her quickly. "God, I'm sorry. I got caught at work. I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long, but there were patients who needed me, and-" he paused, attempting to catch his breath. Obviously he had rushed inside. "I didn't realize the time. I had no idea it was so late. And you haven't eaten..." he swore quietly under his breath. "You think I'm awful, don't you?"

His sudden apologies caught her so off guard that she could do nothing more than watch him silently, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'll fix your dinner," he offered quickly, shrugging out of his suit coat and hurrying over to the hot plate. She could do no more than watch him as he rambled on, loosening his tie. "I tried to leave, but Sister Jude- she was desperate. You see, there's a new patient at Briarcliff, a young man, and his mother swears he's been... possessed by the devil. No. _Yes_. There's no other word for it. He's foul, Lana. And the way he-" He stopped suddenly, turning back to her. She sat, unmoving. As the hot plate began to warm, he paused, his posture drooping slightly, head falling forward.

She watched him unsurely as he allowed his tongue to dart out and wet his bottom lip. His eyes closed for a moment, a small smile slipping over his lips before he opened his eyelids.

"I'm sorry, Lana," he apologized softly after a moment, reaching in to a cabinet high above his head to retrieve a loaf of bread. He spread butter over the bread and watched as it began to sizzle in the skillet. He turned toward her. "This is all new to me, too, you know. Having someone to come home to."

She stared at him, the words registering as odd in her mind. That phrase, _someone to come home to_, it was so misleading. As if she were his dutiful wife, a happy homemaker simply waiting for her husband to return from a day at the office. Though, deny it she may, she preferred when he was here. It was easier. So much easier than waiting for those footsteps to come down the stairs. As much as she hated him and, yes, feared him, she was completely dependent upon him.

"I know, you're hungry," he went on as a spatula pushed the bread around. "You haven't eaten since early this morning. You must be starved." His eyes met hers. "That wasn't my intention, Lana. You must believe me." His eyes left her face, dark irises scanning her frail body beneath the thin gown he'd provided for her. As if his very gaze could penetrate her to her bones, she crossed her arms over her chest and shuddered. His eyes narrowed as looked up at her.

"You have magnificent curves, Lana. I wouldn't dream of denying you food only to watch you grow thinner and thinner. Your clavicles would begin to protrude, the cavities of your ribs would interrupt the perfect flatness of your belly. Your shoulder blades, peppered with those tiny freckles on your skin, would jut from your back as if you were growing wings." He turned to look at her. "Watching you starve to death wouldn't be easy for either of us, Lana."

More so than the thought of him letting her succumb to starvation, she was disturbed by the intimate ways in which he seemed so familiar with her body. He could have simply been assuming, of course, but... hadn't it been he himself who had told her that assumptions were often incorrect?

As he turned the hot plate off and slid the toasted cheese sandwich onto a plate, he caught her frightened gaze. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he connected the dots between her alarm and his recent words.

"Oh, God, no, Lana. I haven't touched you." He seemed offended by her silent accusations, "I've been watching you for some time now. I've noticed certain things about your physique. Occasionally, your hair falls away from the back of your neck and I've admired your skin." He grinned at her. "You have lovely skin. Lovelier, perhaps, than any I've worked with in the past."

Picking up the plate, he carried it to the bed. As soon as the food was before her, she grabbed for the sandwich and bit into it. She hated eating in front of him because she saw the way he watched her, his eyes glimmering with each bite she took, watching in joy as she swallowed his creation. Currently, however, her body was craving food and there was no room for spitefulness.

"I drove by your house today," he said nonchalantly as she ate. Her eyes rose to his and she swallowed the food in her mouth. "I thought about going in... but I decided against it." He settled on to the edge of the bed, slipping his black dress shoes off. "There's nothing there for either of us anymore."

A different nausea than the one she'd experienced from an empty stomach filled her. The sandwich tasted sour suddenly, and she placed it back on the plate. She knew that she shouldn't ask... shouldn't even let him see the question in her eyes, but she couldn't keep it from clouding her vision. The desperate need for information was too great.

"Wendy hasn't been there, of course," he answered her unasked question as his fingers loosened and removed the red tie from around his neck. He sighed heavily before looking up at her with a bright smile. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

She realized with a sudden dread that, wherever she was, Wendy wouldn't be going home ever again. Their house would be abandoned. The neighbors, if they even noticed they were missing, would probably assume they had sold the property and moved away. No one would ask questions. No one would care. It was the price that both of them had to pay for wanting to keep their private life private.

"Could you get some of my things?" She found herself asking the question, though it shocked even her. What would she possibly do with any of her material items in this dungeon? She had nothing of any importance, anyway. Still, the idea of holding onto something from her past, no matter how minuscule it was, appealed to her. "Please, Oliver? For Mama?"

His eyes flashed suddenly and he pushed himself off the bed. Anger rose in his cheeks, face flushing as he narrowed his dark gaze at her.

"You can't do that!" He screamed, causing her to flinch. "You don't get to be my mother when it's convenient for you, and just Lana when it isn't! You're just the same as her! She only wanted to be my mother when it was convenient for her." He turned away from her, hands raised to his face and stood quietly for a moment. Only when she saw his shoulders shuddering did she realize he was sobbing into his hands. She sat silent and still, alarmed by this intensely emotional side of him. Thus far, she hadn't seen him exhibit such sadness, and the thought that he was perhaps slipping into a depression frightened her.

He sniffled loudly after a moment and turned back to face her, eyes rimmed with red. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and shook his head as if he could expel the sadness from his mind.

Lana wanted to use the opportunity of his distraction to find a way out of her shackles, up the stairs and back to the world she had so taken for granted. However, his watery eyes were trained upon her again, watching her as a child might gaze at a parent who has just scolded him.

"You're right," she began, taking a shuddering breath. "Absolutely right. You need me to be your mother, and I-"

He held up a flat palm, stopping her.

"I don't," he shook his head, swallowing hard and still choking on his words. "I was wrong about that. I've been wrong about so much. You're not my mother."

The words came as a relief at first, and then their meaning hit her. He no longer considered her a mother figure, which meant that he no longer viewed her as a sacred position in his life. The fact was, that as much as she despised him, she needed to be important to him.

"Then what am I?" She asked after a moment, the words nearly catching in her throat.

"You still have many roles to fulfill for me," he replied, blinking before slipping his glasses back onto his face. "Writing my story is only the first step for you."

He moved closer to her slowly, she heard his quiet breath as he joined her on the bed. She pushed herself away from him, but he closed in on her still.

"I used to think my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world," he began, crossing his legs beneath him. "I loved her dark hair, her eyes. Her voice. There was nothing about her that wasn't perfect to me. But you, Lana..." his eyes ran the length of her thin arms, "you're a vision. More than she ever was."

His fingers reached toward her, and she saw him trembling. His fingertips traced along the soft skin on her arms as he watched her, mesmerized.

"There's a tiny scar just on the underside of your arm," he spoke slowly, raising his eyes to hers. "What happened?"

She swallowed hard.

"I fell on a brick when I was four." It felt too intimate to discuss her childhood with him, and she hated him suddenly for thinking that he had the power to force her to recall her life. That he had the power to make her share with him.

"You had stitches," he nodded, turning her arm and tracing his index finger over the tiny white scar. "I've given many stitches myself." His smirk turned upward at his own words. "To both living and non-living patients."

Her eyes narrowed at him, but he didn't seem to notice. He was busy studying her other arm, and then, to her horror, slipping her nightgown above her hips and studying her thighs. She shrugged in his grasp but his strong hand held her, eyes roaming the skin that he had exposed. She froze in his touch, but the fact seemed to be that he had no interest in the stained white panties she wore, or the hidden area between her legs. He focused solely on her exposed skin.

"You've always been very thin, haven't you?" he asked, fingertips touching her sensitive inner thighs which caused her to jerk against his hand. This reaction made him smile. "No evidence of stretch marks. No scars, no mars of any kind, Lana." He looked up at her, his eyes bright with excitement. "Your skin is, quite literally, flawless."

She clenched her teeth tightly, her breath straining in her chest.

"I've never had such perfection at my very fingertips," he mused softly, his eyes once again traveling to a far away place. He was no longer in this moment, but in his own dark paradise. After a brief silence, he returned, his eyes flashing to hers.

"There's something I've always wondered."

The phrase caused a wave of nausea to roll over her, though he pulled his fingertips from her, curling them into his palm as if he intended to cherish the traces of her skin upon them. Free from his touch, she allowed herself to relax slightly, her posture relaxing against the pillows behind her back.

"Does it feel differently for you, Lana?"

His eyes seemed to grow impossibly dark as she tilted her head, considering his words.

"Does what feel differently?" The words were hoarse as they left her throat.

He grinned wolfishly.

"Don't be coy with me, Lana. If I'd have asked this question last week, you surely wouldn't have hesitated to share your most intimate details with me. Now, of course, what I mean is... how does it feel when a woman brings you to your climax?"

His question outraged and humiliated her. His eyes fixed on her, obviously waiting for her response. She turned her eyes from him, focusing instead on a grimy tile on the floor. The heat rose in her cheeks as she thought of Wendy and the passion they had shared together. Often they'd giggled that the neighbors would hear them and call the police, despite the fact that they made sure to keep their voices low in the bedroom. And now here _he_ was, asking about their most private moments together.

"Tomorrow is Saturday, Lana," he reminded her, tilting his head. "I've got all weekend to wait for your response. And eventually, you'll need to use the restroom. And I'll still be here."

She tore her eyes away from her focal point and glared at him.

"I don't know," she spat the words at him. "I've forgotten."

Of course she hadn't. One year or one million years couldn't erase the memory of the lovemaking she had shared with Wendy. The power of the orgasms that the tiny brunette gave her was something that she knew she would never be able to forget. The way her hips had bucked and rolled into her lover's gentle touch would stay with her forever. Oliver didn't need to know any of that.

She heard him chuckle softly, shaking his head.

"Now Lana," he chided her gently. "I made a profession of understanding the human psyche. Surely you haven't fooled yourself into believing that I think that's true, even for a moment. Making love is a sensual, sacred experience. One doesn't easily forget the sensations that come along with such an important occasion. You can't simply forget such a grand pleasure."

"I haven't forgotten," she hissed the words at him. "I could never forget. I couldn't forget a single moment with her. You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't I?" He quizzed her.

"No, you wouldn't," she returned quickly. "Making love to someone you care about is something you'll never be able to comprehend. It's like..." she hesitated, face flushed with hatred, "it's like falling through a hole. Falling, and you don't know where you're going or how you got there, but you don't even care."

"And where do you go?" He challenged her. The excitement was evident in his face.

Lana blinked, breaking the moment between them. She turned her head.

"Nowhere," she shook her head, dark hair falling into her eyes. "I can't talk about this."

"That's the problem, isn't it, Lana?" He quipped. "You have an unnatural aversion to discussing your feelings. That's why you came to me. That's why you felt you had to hide what we had from Wendy. That's how we got to be where we are at this very moment. Now," he straightened his posture, "I'm all you have. Nowhere is not an acceptable answer."

She remained silent, eyes glassy and unblinking.

"Or, perhaps," he smirked, "we should find out if I can make you go _nowhere_ myself."

His crude comment filled her with a rage she hadn't realized she'd been holding back.

"The feeling my skin gave you," she began, her voice cold, "that sick little thrill you got when you were tracing your fingertips over the insides of my thighs? It's ten-thousand times better than that with Wendy. Nothing you could _ever _do to me would make me feel the way she made me feel."

His jaw clenched tightly and he leaped from the bed, turning away from her for a moment before back to her, grabbing her ankle tightly and pulling her down and towards him. An unbearable pain in her ankle made her cry out, drawing her attention back to the chain on her leg. Fire flared in his eyes as he glared down at the gaping wound beneath the metal cuff.

The anger remained at first, and then he moved closer, narrowing his eyes as he studied her ankle.

"Jesus, Lana," he hissed at her, pulling her ankle closer to him by the chain, disregarding the pained whimper that escaped her as the metal caught on her raw skin. "You're going to die of an infection before we even accomplish what I have planned for us." He glanced up at her accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"When was I supposed to do that?" She challenged him, wincing as he handled her ankle roughly. "You haven't been home all day. It must have gotten worse over night." Her eyes grew dark and she met his gaze. "You're the one who put this goddamn thing on my ankle, Oliver. The least you could do is monitor the damage it's doing to me."

His face flushed at her words, his jaw clenching before he turned from her.

"This is nothing I can't fix," he told her, his voice low. "All it needs is a little first aid. Or perhaps I should leave it untreated for a while and wait until the infection sets in. Until the pus begins seeping from your wounds... the skin growing red and inflamed." His eyes challenged her. "I guess that depends on how you behave, Lana."

His words frightened her, and she lowered her gaze to the ring on her ankle.

"I'm sorry," she spoke softly, feeling the lump in her throat as she tried to swallow. "I truly am. Can you help me, please, Oliver?" She met his eyes quietly. "Please. It hurts."

His hard gaze remained on her for a moment before he pushed himself away, moving to a cabinet across the room and out of her reach. He shuffled through the cabinet briefly before retrieving a small white box and crossing back to Lana. The metal tin fell onto the bed and she glanced at it. A first-aid kit. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the pain would end soon. At least the physical pain.

"I'm going to have to remove this chain for just a moment." He looked up at her seriously. "I trust you won't do anything stupid. You're well aware that your actions have consequences by now."

His words made the breath catch in her throat. Her heart started to race at the prospect of being free, if only for a brief moment. She tried to control her racing pulse, lest he see and realize the mounting anxiety within her.

"Don't move," he warned her again, keeping his eyes trained on her as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small set of keys. Slipping a small metal key into the key-hole, he turned the key quickly before slipping it back into his pocket. As he opened the metal cuff, the thin blue vein in Lana's neck pulsed with adrenaline. His fingers gripped her ankle surprisingly gently, one hand holding her while the other worked to open the first aid kit. Her slender ankle in his large hand made her feel small and vulnerable, and she knew that this was the moment she had been waiting for. She couldn't expect this opportunity again.

She was surprised by how gentle his touch felt on her skin, and she hesitated for only a moment before she jerked from his touch, the heel of her foot connected squarely with his jaw. Her own strength surprised even her and sent him sprawling from the bed, onto the floor. Within a second she was off the bed, scrambling across the cold tile floor and _free_. Rushing towards the stairs, toward her freedom, she wasn't far now, just a few stairs and then out the door. Out of this hell hole, away from this monster forever.

The fact that he didn't seem to be in a hurry to climb from the place he'd fallen didn't disturb her at first, but as she climbed the stairs like a wild animal, hair falling in her eyes and panting desperately, the realization hit her. Her hands found the heavy door at the top of her stairs, reaching for the handle. She tugged, nothing happened. She pounded, and, beneath her fingers, felt nothing but the heavy steel of the door itself. It was solid. She took a step back, her eyes raising. The door was locked. Of course it was. Locked from the inside, only to be opened with a heavy key. A key that she didn't possess.

"No!" She cried the word loudly, sucking in her breath, "God, no!"

She heard shuffling from Oliver at the base of the stairs, just beyond her line of vision. Even now, he didn't sound particularly concerned, or even hurried. In fact, his footsteps on the tile floor sounded even and relaxed.

A sharp sob threatened to rip through her and she covered her mouth desperately, hugging herself as she sunk back onto the stairs, making herself as small and quiet as possible. This couldn't be happening. Her chance at freedom, waved in her face and taken from her so cruelly, just as a starving animal being denied food. The realization that she was now literally cornered by a monster was too much to accept. She closed her eyes, wishing herself away. Praying to a god she didn't believe in that she would magically transport from this spot, into another place. Anywhere but here.

"Lana," his voice called for her. She could hear the smile in her voice. She kept silent, kept praying. He was silent for a moment before speaking again, calling for her in the same sing-song tone. "Oh, Lana."

Silent sobs wracked her body, burying her face in her hands, her heart racing out of her chest. There was more shuffling from the basement, though this time the footsteps sounded more desperate.

"I don't like to admit when I'm wrong," his announcement came after a brief silence and a quiet grunt on his behalf. "But this time, Lana, I think the situation calls for acknowledging the indiscretions I've made. I'm not mad at you." His voice softened a little. "I expected you to run, after all. Your first chance at escape, you would have been crazy not to take it. Despite all the comforts of home I've provided you with, you're not comfortable. That's my fault. And I intend to see that those misdoings are remedied."

The sound of her pounding heart grew in her ears, tears slipping down her face as she tried to control her breath. She couldn't lose control of herself now, not at such a crucial moment. She had to stay in this moment, to be able to react to whatever Oliver decided to do.

"However, I was wrong about you when I thought you were my mother. Working alongside you, being with you day after day, it has led me to see that you aren't made for mothering. You're a bright, ambitious woman. You would never be content with staying home to care for a child. To stay home and take care of _me_. I need more than you have to offer, Lana." She heard him giggle quietly. "But that's okay. I'm not upset. I'm not upset because I've found a new mother. Thanks to you. She's everything I've ever needed. You'll want to come down and see her."

She realized, with horror, that he wasn't alone downstairs. A woman had joined him, or, rather, he had brought a woman from some dark place that had been hidden from Lana's view all this time. Despite the terrifying realization, she couldn't bring herself to move from her hiding place. She clung to the desperate hope that if she stayed in this spot long enough, she might begin to blend in with the wall. Maybe disappear completely.

"Come down, Lana." His voice was more firm this time, and it contained a harsh edge that she hadn't heard from him before. The excitement was gone from him, replaced with deadly seriousness. "_Now_. I don't think you'll want to be responsible for her death."

The words hit her hard. This couldn't be real. It had to be a nightmare. Not only was she responsible for her own life, but for the life of a stranger. The fear of him placing this responsibility on her shoulders was one that she hadn't truly expected to come about. She should have known, of course. Nothing was beyond his sinister intentions.

"Okay. I'm coming," she heard herself say softly, her voice breaking. She shuddered with another sob before slipping down the stairs slowly. Her eyes squeezed shut as she reached the landing, tears still slipping from beneath her closed lids. Taking a deep breath, she forced her eyes open, bringing herself back to her grim reality.

Oliver stood grinning now, his arm wrapped tightly around a woman with dark hair. She raised her head quickly, catching Lana's eyes. The recognition between them was immediate.

"I'm sure you've always known dear Wendy would make a wonderful mother," he sighed, stroking her frightened lover's dark hair. "And now, Lana, thanks to you bringing us together, she's _mine_."


	11. Chapter 11

WARNING: THIS IS NOT A LIGHT CHAPTER. IT IS HEAVY AND POSSIBLY DISTURBING.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: RAPE, RAPE, RAPE. I DON'T AGREE WITH IT, BUT IT HAPPENS. I'm really sorry if it offends you, but I think we all have to expect it from him, right?

* * *

Her insides had been ripped apart. That was the only possible explanation for the searing pain between her legs, her abdomen, her pelvis. She curled onto her side and away from Oliver as he fell back against the mattress, his softened member hanging vulgarly between his thighs. The harsh lighting of the basement reflected upon his skin, glistening with sweat. He panted, his hand falling on her bare hip, short nails gently scratching the skin before his fingers traced down her back. She shuddered, jerking away from his touch.

"Don't..." she whispered, but realized her voice was hoarse and barely audible. Undoubtedly, Oliver didn't hear her, but his hand fell from her and she heard him groan softly as the bed squeaked beneath his movement.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. She had been enduring his torturous rituals for the past week and a half, but each time felt differently. Each time was more painful, almost as if her body, rather than adjusting to his length and girth, had learned only to reject him more forcefully with each assault. She still felt his warmth between her legs, she felt as if she could trace the path that the poison he had released into her body had taken to her womb. The first time, instinctively, she had tried to expel his seed from between her legs, muscles clenching and releasing in a desperate attempt. The sight of his liquid slipping down her legs had only enticed him further, he had become more aroused by the sight and had taken her for a second time. Since then, she had learned to accept the poison within her.

"Lana..." he huffed, falling back against the pillows before moving off the side of the bed and reaching for his white briefs and dark slacks that had been abandoned on the floor along with the bed sheets. "I don't know how it's possible, but... you seem to get tighter each time."

His frank discussion of her sexual organs disgusted her. She refused to turn to look at him. She could hear him shuffling into his clothes behind her and closed her eyes, desperate for this moment to be over. He would leave now, retreat upstairs and do whatever it was he did after his assaults, and she would be left to replay his torture in her mind. Left to focus on the warmth inside her and the pain between her thighs. It was these moments when she most often wished for death, a dark angel to swoop in with black wings and take her away. Anywhere but here.

But he surprised her this time, and rather than retreating up the stairs to the house above, crossed the dungeon room, moving to stand in front of Lana. He knelt on one knee, his face closing in on hers. One hand reached out to brush her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin lightly.

"Things were different this time, weren't they?" His eyes were bright, almost shining with the excitement that was evident in his voice. "I felt it, Lana. Inside you. Something changed. It got better."

Her eyes drifted to his, glassy and full of hatred.

"You're insane," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The only thing that has changed is the fact that I despise you even more now. I didn't know it was possible."

His smile faded for just a moment, shaking his head slowly.

"There's so much you don't know, Lana. _So much_."

His dark eyes studied hers, still twinkling with the post-coital glow that always made her feel dirty and ashamed.

He stood, brushing his palms down the front of his slacks.

"Despite your vehement denial, I'm no fool. I've felt the changes that have occurred within you among the past week. Your body is opening to me, Lana. With each encounter between us, you're learning to accept more of me. Your body is welcoming me. It's simply waiting for your mind to catch up."

He used his fingers to brush a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She shied away from his touch, scowling at him. During his assaults, he felt only the tight grip of her muscles around his member. His twisted mind accepted this only as a sign of acceptance, perhaps even pleasure. He refused, or perhaps his mind would not allow him, to recognize the motions for what they truly were: her body's desperate attempts to dispel him from her, muscles gripping and clenching as she tried to push him from her tight tunnel. The tightness of it all only increased the pain within her, and, unfortunately, his pleasure.

"And since you've been such a good girl, I think you deserve a special treat." He grinned at her, sweeping aside a dark curtain and leaning down to open a small door that she had learned was the barrier that separated her from her lover.

Lana lurched desperately in the bed as she saw her girlfriend for the first time in several days. Wendy's dark eyes moved questioningly to Oliver's before scrambling from her hiding place and over to Lana. She gasped desperately as Lana's arms caught her, pulling her onto the mattress and pressing her skin to her girlfriend's, fingers gripping her shirt tightly as she buried her face in Wendy's shoulder.

"I'll give the two of you some time alone," he announced quietly, securing Wendy's ankle with his large hand before slipping a matching metal cuff over her leg. He headed towards the stairs before glancing back at the two women huddled in the bed together. "I'll bring lunch for you, Lana. And of course for you, Mommy. Though it won't be long before you'll be fixing our lunches, now will it?" He giggled softly.

Lana felt Wendy shudder against her, her sharp features fixed in a gaze of hatred and fear as she looked at Oliver. He smiled brightly at them before he ascended the stairs, humming quietly to himself.

"Lana," Wendy whispered desperately to her as soon as the door shut, leaving them alone together in the dungeon. "Are you okay?"

Her hands were on Lana's face, brushing her dark hair from her eyes and using her thumbs to wipe the tears that were already slipping down her cheeks.

"He did it again, didn't he?" Wendy's face was stricken with fear. Lana could only nod, burying her face again in her lover's shoulder. Her fingers clutched desperately at her girlfriend, pulling her impossibly closer. There were no words between them as Wendy stroked her bare back for a moment. Suddenly she pulled away, leaning over the bed to retrieve the white sheet from the floor. She wrapped the thin fabric around Lana's nude body, gently helping her lie down on the mattress before moving next to her. "Can I... can I touch you?"

Lana's eyes met hers. Her heart ached for the relief that only Wendy could provide her. That was Wendy, so cautious, so concerned. She recognized the pain that Lana had endured and, in her usual way, wouldn't encroach upon Lana's personal space until she was granted permission.

Lana nodded and Wendy hurriedly slipped her arms around her girlfriend, hugging her tightly to her. Lana trembled beneath the sheet and Wendy held her closer, warm breath on her neck and ear.

"We're getting out of here," Wendy's voice was quiet but determined, and Lana's eyes rose to hers. She shook her head pleadingly.

"Wendy, no... you can't. He'll hear you. You can't say things like that." Lana's voice was desperate.

"Lana, we have to. He keeps me locked up in that tiny room. I can't live like this. You don't deserve to go through this pain. We have to come up with a plan, we're going to get out of here. I need you to help me, though. I can't do this without you."

"I can't," a quiet sob escaped Lana, shaking her head, "I'm not strong enough, Wendy, I-"

"You _have _to be!" Wendy demanded, pulling back to look at her lover's face. "There's no room for weakness right now, Lana. You have _got _to keep fighting."

Lana's eyes fell to the mattress, dark gaze glassy and blank. Wendy stroked her cheek for a moment before tracing her thumb over Lana's dark eyebrows.

"Lana," Wendy spoke her name, drawing her lover's attention to her eyes. "Stay with me, Lana. You can't check out now." Lana's quiet gaze focused on her slowly, Wendy's eyes dark and narrowed.

"Listen to me," Wendy whispered in the silence of the dungeon. "You cannot _go_ anywhere right now. He's a psychiatrist. The second he sees you going away, he'll lock you up in Briarcliff and you'll _never_ get out. Not until he says you're cured. And the torture will only get worse in there. At least now..." her voice faded for a moment, her fingers entwining with the other woman's. "We have each other."

Lana nodded against the pillow, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

"It hurts, though, Wendy."

"I know," Wendy pressed her warm cheek against Lana's, hushing her softly, "I know it does, baby. And we're going to make sure he pays for every sick thing he's done to us. But you _have_ to be stronger than him. If he sees you like this, he's going to think he's won." She placed a soft kiss on Lana's forehead. "And once he thinks that, we won't be able to stop him."

The heavy door opening above them drew both of their eyes to the ceiling. His deep voice still hummed an eerie tune, though perhaps slipping from anyone else's mouth it would have been joyous and even catchy.

"I hope you two are decent," he called, hesitating for a moment before beginning his descent.

Lana felt Wendy hold onto her tightly as he made his way down the stairs, carrying a tray with three plates resting on it.

"Ahh. A delicious lunch of sandwiches for my ladies." He grinned at them, placing the tray on the edge of the bed before offering a plate to each of them. "Eat up, girls. We've got a very exciting afternoon ahead of us."

"What do you mean?" Wendy challenged him, brown eyes dark with hatred.

He smirked at her before turning his attention to Lana.

"Were the two of you able to catch up?" He wondered, perching on the edge of the mattress. "I imagine you have so much to talk about."

Lana and Wendy watched him guardedly, still clutching each other. He sighed, dropping his head before glancing back at Lana. He slipped off the bed, grabbing Lana's nightgown that he had tossed beside the bed and handed it to her.

"Please, get dressed, Lana. Wendy doesn't need to see you like this."

Wendy's eyes flashed to him.

"I've seen more of her than you ever will," she spat the words at him. Oliver's eyes flicked to hers, a glimmer of excitement in them.

"Is that a challenge?" He smirked at her. Wendy's eyes fell from his, glancing to the sheet on the bed. "Besides," he added after a moment, "that part of your life is behind you now, Wendy. _Mommy_. We only need each other. Isn't that right?"

"Just _stop_, Dr. Thredson. I'm not your mother!" she hissed the words at him, "I'm just another one of your captives. And we're not going to rest until you're either locked up for life or buried six feet under the ground."

Oliver sighed, his head drooping. He let out a heavy breath before looking back at up her.

"I know you don't mean that. You wouldn't say that to me if you were in the right frame of mind. You just need time." He nodded, his chest rising with a heavy sigh. "I so wanted the three of us to have a nice lunch together. But I can see now that the two of you need some time apart to discourage this conspiratorial camaraderie that you've formed." His eyes still focused on Wendy. "This is all so new to me. It's so exciting to have you here at long last." He reached out to stroke Wendy's dark hair and she jerked out of his reach, dark brown eyes narrowing at him.

Lana watched the interaction between them, the way Wendy sneered at him, her expression clearly one of disgust, and still Oliver looked at her kindly. Almost lovingly. Revulsion turned in her stomach.

"Wendy, why don't you go upstairs?" His large hand reached into his pocket, retrieving a single small key and inserting it into the lock. He turned it quickly and the metal cuff slipped off Wendy's ankle, leaving her free. the key safely back in his pocket, she glanced unsurely at Lana before looking back to him.

"What are you going to do with her?" Wendy demanded suddenly, her grip tightening on Lana. She guarded the other woman with her body, Lana's fingertips curling slightly into the back of Wendy's light gown.

He looked shocked at her accusation, shaking his head slowly.

"I'm not going to do anything with her, Wendy. It's simply time to work on my story. Nothing you would be interested in, I'm sure. Just business. There are more important things waiting for you upstairs." At Wendy's hesitance, he tilted his head. "You have two options. You can go upstairs, or you can go back into your little storage closet. Are you going to choose, or should I?"

Wendy pulled back just slightly, her eyes still on Oliver. Lana could hear her heavy breath and Wendy turned her head to look at her. In an instant, Wendy's hands were covering her own and her lips were pressed against her lover's, kissing her deeply and curling her fingers around Lana's hands. The warmth of Wendy's mouth against her bruised lips, especially after all the times Oliver had kissed her so harshly, left Lana feeling breathless with happy memories of the the way things had been.

All too soon, however, she saw Oliver's fingers curl around Wendy's arm, pulling her away and off the bed harshly, causing her to stumble to her feet. His tight grip remained on her arm as he dragged her to the staircase and followed her up the stairs. Lana sat still, eyes wide and silent as she heard Wendy step to the floor of the main house before Oliver pulled the heavy metal door shut behind her. He descended the stairs again, a foolish smile etched onto his face.

"Wendy gets to go upstairs?" Lana questioned him quickly, her eyes darting toward the top of the stairs. It took a moment for the question to register in his mind, and he laughed softly after a moment, shaking his head.

"Oh, I see. You think this is going to be the moment of your redemption, don't you?"

His eyes met Lana's, and though she desperately tried to disguise the foolish hopefulness in her eyes, he saw through her expression.

"If I were you, Lana, I wouldn't get my hopes up. I've locked anything of any use to her well out of her reach." He stood at the edge of the bed, Lana looking up at him. "And unless a primary teacher knows how to make a shank out of a deck of playing cards, this little act of kindness on my behalf will hardly be my undoing."

She knew he could sense the the way her body slumped at the idea of Wendy being no closer to gaining their freedom, and the corners of his lips curved into a smirk. He was obviously greatly pleased at Lana's defeated stature and crawled onto the bed, moving closer to her. She pushed herself away from him, despising the way he clambered toward her like a child, excited to tell her about his day at school.

There was a long silence between them as he folded his legs beneath them, watching her with an amused expression, eyes glittering with excitement.

She met his eyes at first, but his incessant gaze on her caused her to look away, dark eyes searching the room despite the fact that she could still feel his eyes on her.

"Would you get me the typewriter, please, so we can begin?" She asked, in a desperate attempt to disrupt his focus on her, but her words did nothing to sway him.

"I told Wendy a lie," he giggled softly, covering his mouth. "I shouldn't have, I know. After all, she's never made a secret out of her true feelings for me. However..." he contemplated his words for a moment, "I'm not interested in working on my story right now. There's a far more pressing matter on my mind."

Lana watched him silently, breath shuddering in her lungs.

"What?" She whispered the word, terror encompassing her at the wild look in his eyes.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He asked suddenly, moving closer to her still. His gaze never faltered from her as he awaited a response. Lana, taken aback from the whiplash effect he seemed to thrive on, simply watched him silently.

"Lately, Lana," he began, his voice soft and deep, "I've been thinking of the way it feels. With you. How snugly I fit inside of your warmth. How tightly you grasp me, and how your muscles wring my member so deliciously when I'm inside you..." his eyes closed in pleasant recollection, a slight shudder visibly rippling through him at his words. His eyes opened slowly, dark brown irises meeting hers. "And I can't help but wonder; would _Mommy_ feel the same way when she's wrapped around me?"

Lana's face flushed, intense anger and indignation rushing through her with such force that she jerked against her chain, lunging at him without fully realizing her intention. His eyes widened and he sat back quickly, lips forming a pink warning, eyebrows furrowing.

"She's _not_ your mommy!" Her voice came out more shrilly than she had hoped it would, and her eyes darkened. "She's not your _anything_!"

She struggled against her chains as he advanced on her, hands pushing against the base of her neck. His thumbs pressed into the delicate skin just above her collarbone and his thick fingers curled around her neck, squeezing and applying enough pressure to restrict her air supply. She gasped beneath his touch, face already flushing. Her skin grew more red beneath his tanned hands as he straddled her, blocking the air from her lungs as she already grew desperate for breath.

"Tsk, tsk," Oliver hushed her calmly, shaking his head. "That was quite an outburst, Lana. I thought you knew by now that acting out of pure emotion always ends badly for you." He raised one dark eyebrow at her. "And I'm afraid this is one of those times." His grip released just slightly as her legs kicked beneath him, and he allowed air to flood into her lungs suddenly. She gasped loudly as he traced a finger down her pale jaw line, his mouth pressing close to her ear. "I've spent my entire life looking for Wendy," his hot breath licked her ear, "I want to make her sweet little body tremble beneath my touch. And you're going to help me make that happen."

"The hell I am," she wheezed beneath him, struggling to slip out from beneath him despite the fact that a knee pressed heavily between her legs, pinning her to the bed. "You could _never_ make me help you do that!"

One hand keeping her pinned beneath him, the other hand quickly found its way into his pocket, pulling out a small penknife and flicking it open, the sharp metal blade pressed to the delicate blue vein in her neck. She stilled beneath him suddenly, her breath catching in her throat as he traced the thin blade along her skin. She took shaky breaths as he grinned down at her, his dark hair falling into his face.

"I want you," he snarled above her, "to consider what might happen to your beloved Wendy if I slit your throat right now."

"You wouldn't do that," she took a shuddering breath after a moment, keeping her eyes locked on his.

"Wouldn't I?" He tilted his head at her, "Lana, I think you're forgetting that I've skinned women alive. I've worn their skin against my own. I hardly think watching the blood drain from you until you slip into unconsciousness is beyond my grasp of ability."

She swallowed hard, feeling the blade against her skin. She was trembling within his hold, and she hated that she knew he could feel it. The idea of providing him with any form of twisted pleasure made her sick.

She took a shallow breath, tears burning her eyes before they began to slip down her cheeks. She knew he could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she met his dark gaze.

"What do I have to do?" The question alone was nearly too much for her. The thought of him using her against her lover... the very idea that he had the power to do so... it was terrifying.

"Mmm," a slow grin spread across his lips, but the knife still pressed against her throat. "That's what I thought."

He turned the knife in his hand, pressing the point to her skin and tracing it down the length of her neck.

"You're going to tell me exactly what I need to do to bring Wendy to climax."

"_No, Oliver, please_!" The words escaped as a desperate plea, and immediately the knife returned to her throat.

"I know you know," his voice lowered and grew darker. "I know that your fingers know all of those sweet spots within her that drive her over the edge. You're the only one who knows what she requires to achieve her orgasm. And you're going to share those dirty little secrets with me. Or I'm going to spill your blood all over these sheets, and then I'll bring Wendy down and make her watch as you bleed out. While I'm inside her."

A sob tore through Lana's throat, tears trickling down her cheeks. She gasped, turning her eyes from him.

"Please don't hurt her," Lana begged desperately, "please, please."

"Oh, I have no intention of hurting her," Oliver's voice attempted to reassure her, his fingertips tracing her skin. "Quite the contrary, wouldn't you say? Now tell me, Lana. Tell me what I need to do to get her to her release."

"Please don't make me do this," she whimpered, "I can't do this to her..."

"You won't be doing anything to her, Lana," his voice was more firm now. He was beginning to lose what little patience he'd had to begin with. "Now, tell me what to do or I'll have to cut it out of you."

The blade pressed into her skin and she felt the sharp pain of the metal beginning to slice through her skin.

"Okay," she sobbed suddenly, freezing beneath him. "Okay. Just... stop. Please, stop."

She felt the blade being pulled from her skin and looked up at him, eyes red and burning with tears.

Lana tried to resist the tears, tried to fight the guilt within her, knowing that she wasn't doing this of her own volition, but rather at the urgings of a madman. Still, the thought of giving him the ammunition with which to destroy her lover left her feeling repulsed.

"Wendy likes it..." the words escaped from her in shudders, keeping her voice low in shame and disgust. At least Wendy couldn't hear her. Wendy would never know that she was the reason for Oliver's intimate knowledge. She would never expect Lana to divulge such personal information to their captor. The thought brought a round of fresh tears, but she pushed it from her mind. "She likes it when I use my fingers..." her voice faded in a desperate attempt to give him a chance to see that what he was forcing her to do was inhumane, but his eyes shone excitedly and he watched Lana closely.

Just as she spoke the words, Oliver's eyes darted down to her slender fingers, studying them as he raised a dark brow, imagining her thin digits working inside Wendy's hot tunnel, causing her to writhe and cry out in passion. The very thought made Lana's head spin and her stomach feel nauseous. She closed her eyes as she continued to speak.

"I use my fingers inside her. I bend my fingertips just a little... that spot... there's a spot inside her that I found that..." she sniveled desperately, sniffling and opening her eyes to focus on a spot away from Oliver's eyes. "You can tell when you've found it. She tightens around you, and..." she stopped speaking, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She was still trembling, and looked to him, her eyes begging him for permission to stop speaking. She found no kindness in his eyes.

"Does she like to be touched?" He asked, his voice deep with what Lana recognized as lust. The idea of him yearning for her lover, _her _Wendy, made her feel sick and more alone than ever. "To have her nipples caressed and her clitoris stimulated?"

Lana began to sob openly, her head falling forward in silent nod, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to block him from her thoughts.

"What drives her over the edge?" He asked suddenly, his posture straightening as he drilled her for more information. "What is it that finally, _finally_ makes her reach her climax, Lana?"

Lana took one last gasping breath, her chest rising and falling laboriously. She turned her head away from him, focusing on one of the many linked chains hanging from the ceiling. She blinked wearily and swallowed. Her back rested heavily on the headboard of the bed. The very bed she had once shared with Wendy.

"That... between her legs..." she struggled to say the words, but Oliver smirked. The corners of his lips turned into a dark smile.

"Her clitoris," he encouraged her, "that delicious little bundle of nerves between her legs. Did you know, Lana, that the clitoris has no other known purpose in the human body than providing pleasure for women?" He chuckled darkly. "Of course you knew that."

Lana couldn't stand to look at him anymore despite the fact that his eyes were still on her, grinning like a wolf. Her face was hot and anger pulsed through her. There was nothing more she could do. He had his information, and she was powerless to stop what he planned to do with her.

It seemed that Oliver, however, was not quite finished with his sick fantasy.

"I'll wager that a few swipes of the pad of my thumb over that tiny, slick button would send her into shudders of pleasure," he breathed, voice tinted with arousal. "And, as I've told you before, Lana, I'm not a betting man."

The fight had gone from her, and the idea of him using her against Wendy had taken what little spirit she'd had left. She slumped onto her back in the bed, curling onto her side and away from him. She felt as if her body was nothing more than an empty husk, a vessel used solely for the transportation of blood through an intricate set of veins that no longer led to a beating heart.

"I was going to wait," he admitted, "but I don't think I can. You've gotten me so excited. And I think you're really going to enjoy this, as well." She felt his weight shift off the bed as he hurried toward the stairs. Before he reached the landing at the top of the concrete staircase, she heard him call Wendy's name.

"What..." she turned on her side, searching desperately for Oliver before fully realizing he had gone to retrieve Wendy. Her heart sunk in her chest and she sat up quickly, calling out to him. "No! God, no, Oliver!"

Lana clawed desperately at the sheets as she tried to pull herself from the bed, desperate to reach him and beg him not to go through with his twisted fantasy. She'd been so sure she'd had more time to come up with a plan to save Wendy from his malicious intent. She hadn't realized he wasn't making future plans, but rather immediate ones. He fully intended to follow through with his words instantly, and Lana was responsible for the lust he was suddenly unable to contain.

She heard him drag Wendy through the door at the top of the stairs and lead her downstairs. Lana's eyes met hers for a brief moment before she had to turn away, torn in half by guilt and self-hatred.

"Go join Lana on the bed," Oliver spoke softly to Wendy, releasing her from his grip. Ignorant as to what he had in mind for her, Wendy clambered onto the bed next to her girlfriend, obviously relieved just to be reunited with Lana. Her soft hand found Lana's cheek, peppering soft kisses on her lover's jaw.

"Are you okay?" Wendy asked, her voice full of concern as she wiped the tears from Lana's red and swollen face. "What did he do to you?"

_Nothing that he's not about to do to you_, Lana tried to warn her silently. Their dark eyes connected, Wendy's gaze clouded with fear and worry.

"Wendy, I'm so sorry," was all Lana could manage before Oliver slipped the heavy cuff around Wendy's slender ankle again, condemning her to the mattress. Lana glanced up at Oliver as he approached the edge of the bed, waiting for her moment. He would have to release her, she realized, just as he always released Wendy before he took Lana's body. She would have a chance to search desperately for any mode of escape and then come back for Wendy. She would save her.

However, to Lana's horror, Oliver's fingers didn't reach into his pocket for the keys to the cuff. Instead, they reached for Wendy's dark hair, turning her head gently towards him.

"Wendy," he said her name softly despite the deep baritone of his voice. "Look at me."

Wendy had not yet been overtaken by fear, and looked defiantly at her captor. As she did, Oliver's fingers tipped her chin to his, meeting her lips gently with his own. Wendy shrieked at the sudden contact, scrambling back against the sheets, desperate to escape him, but he descended on her quickly. He was already straddling her waist, collecting both of her tiny wrists with one large hand and pressing them together as he placed soft kisses on the square of her jaw, his eyes closed as he seemed to relish this moment between them.

Lana watched, horrified, as his fingers began to slide down her lover's body, slipping between her slender legs and beginning to search for that secret spot that Lana had revealed to him. Overcome by sudden rage and hatred, Lana lunged for them, her fingers going around Oliver's neck. Almost as if he had been anticipating this reaction, he threw her off and turned quickly, grabbing the chain attached to Lana's ankle and pulling her across the floor. Hurriedly, he reached beneath the bed frame and secured a chain to her other ankle, restricting her movement to several inches. Lana howled as she realized what he had done; she was now physically unable to move any further or closer to them while still only a foot-and-a-half out of reach of her lover. Her arms stretched toward Wendy in one last desperate attempt to preserve her girlfriend's dignity and safety, but it was to no avail. Oliver had trapped her exactly where he had wanted her.

She wanted to look away, but Wendy was watching her now, eyes wide in fright, and Lana couldn't bear to abandon her lover. She wiped at her tears desperately, nodding quickly at Wendy, encouraging her to keep her eyes focused on her instead of the man towering above her.

Still, she couldn't help but take notice of what Oliver was doing. Now that Lana had been taken care of, he was free to move between Wendy's legs. His body crawled between her thighs, keeping them spread and his hands began to trace small circles on her pelvis and then lower. Wendy glanced quickly from Lana to Oliver, the realization of what was happening finally beginning to set in.

"No..." Wendy whispered hoarsely, shaking her head at the man who was now grinning up at her. "No, please don't. I..."

"Shhh," he silenced her with a finger to her lips, his other hand slipping up her stomach now, finding the small mounds of breasts beneath her gown, his hands molding over them in a slow, torturous motion as he attempted to make her nipples harden into taut pebbles. Wendy's eyebrows creased at his touch and she jerked her head away from him, her body arching for freedom. He held her still with one strong hand now, fingers slipping down her body to pull her white cotton panties from her thin legs. Lana tried to ignore Wendy's muffled cries as he slid them down her legs, tossing them behind him and now using both hands to keep her thighs spread.

"You're going to like this," he assured her, his body lowering between Wendy's spread legs. "I know you will."

Lana watched, unable to turn away, as one of his thick fingers unfolded from his palm, probing gently at Wendy's pink folds. Wendy gasped against his touch and jerked away, tears slipping down her face, her eyes squeezing shut as he explored her parted lips. Lana could hear his quiet gasps as he explored her female anatomy, dark eyebrows furrowing in interest as he began to stroke the hood of her clitoris, encouraging it to emerge.

"No," Wendy gasped again, her hips jerking against his hand. Hatred rolled in Lana's stomach at the sight of her lover twitching beneath him. Oliver noticed it as well, because a huge grin slipped across his face and he looked at Lana.

"You were right," he smirked at her, his finger working quickly between Wendy's thighs. As one hand continued to work at the tiny bud between her legs, another hand's fingers began to teasingly part her folds, slipping inside just to the first knuckle. Wendy's breath grew heavy and she groaned softly, her head pressing into the pillow, her face a grimace as the pressure entered her.

"That's it, Wendy," he encouraged her softly, fascinated with the way her body was beginning to respond despite herself. His fingers continued to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves and Lana heard him make a small, satisfied sound in the back of his throat just as she saw a glimmer of wetness between Wendy's thighs.

The breath was taken from Lana immediately and she turned away, horrified at the prospect of Wendy's body responding to his malevolent touch. Lana's stomach turned, and she thought she might throw up. This couldn't be real. She was seeing things, hearing things. Wendy couldn't possibly be aroused by the things this monster was doing to her.

And then, the hard truth hit her. She was aroused, and it was because she herself had given him the knowledge to arouse her. She'd told him exactly what he needed to do to produce these results within her lover. She'd done the same actions a million times herself, and each time, Wendy had climaxed gratefully. The revolting truth was, _she_ was the reason Wendy's body was responding.

A strangled moan drew her attention back to the lurid scene before her. Oliver's fingers had withdrawn from her now, but even in the dim light she saw them shining with Wendy's own wetness. Hurriedly, he began to pull the leather from his belt buckle, slipping it off and sliding his pants down. The all-too-familiar bulge beneath his white briefs left Lana nauseous and she searched desperately for Wendy's eyes again. To her surprise, her girlfriend was watching her, her vision clouded. Lana couldn't bring herself to admit the truth about those hazy brown eyes.

"It's going to be tight, Wendy," Lana heard Oliver warning her softly as he positioned himself between her spread thighs, and without another moment passing between the three of them, he moved inside of her. Wendy gasped loudly, her hips jerking up at the motion of being filled so suddenly and her eyes squeezed closed painfully, shutting Lana out of the moment.

Oliver's eyes were already half-lidded as he slowly began to move inside of the brunette beneath him. His thick hands grasped her slim hips as he began to thrust into her slowly. She heard tiny whimpers and gasps still slipping from Wendy's lips, and, it dawned on her, after a moment, that not all of them sounded pained.

Oliver began to groan quietly as the speed of his thrusts increased, and he sheathed himself inside of her so deeply that their hips met. Lana swallowed the bile rising in her throat just as his thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs and began to rub quickly.

Wendy's eyes flew open at the sensation, her hips bucking against his as he stimulated her quickly and without mercy. She whimpered beneath him, her small frame dominated by his much larger one. Oliver's hips began to snap into the brunette's, quiet grunts and groans filling the air as his fingers held her tighter, rubbed faster, thrusts angled to hit the soft, sensitive spots on the roof of her warm tunnel. She could see the muscles tightening and relaxing in Wendy's flat stomach and Lana could take no more. She moved as far away from the coupling as she could, though she could feel and hear the shaking of the bed as he pounded into her girlfriend, a still unwilling but completely powerless participant in his game.

Lana closed her eyes tightly, refusing to raise her gaze to either of them as Wendy's whimpers grew higher in pitch, strangled moans escaping her pretty pale throat and Oliver's grunts grew louder and more frequent.

Wendy's climax was unmistakable. She let out a breathy sigh prior to sucking her breath in. And then, the gasps and whimpers that Lana had known so intimately. Whispered words that she couldn't quite make out and a few broken moans punctuated the shuddering breaths that signified her orgasm. Jealousy and hatred for Oliver knotted in Lana's stomach, gritting her teeth as she recognized the sound of Oliver's orgasm following quickly after; his helpless groans and the heightened speed of his thrusts within her, the desperate way he groaned Wendy's name. Actions that Lana had become all too familiar with. And now that Wendy knew just as well.

Heavy breathing followed both of their climaxes before she heard Wendy begin to cry. Suddenly finding the strength that had fled her so recently, Lana raised her head to look at her girlfriend. At the sight of her, Wendy reached for her desperately despite the fact that Oliver was still buried between her legs. Wendy's skin was pink and flushed, tiny beads of sweat punctuating her flawless complexion. Oliver's back heaved between Wendy's thighs as he finally, tortuously, slid out from between Wendy's swollen sex. His breath came in desperate gasps, his body trembling as he slid onto the mattress beside her.

Still shaking, Lana watched, drained, as Oliver crawled up beside Wendy on the bed, collapsing next to her and brushing dark strands of hair from her face. Wendy watched him with dark eyes as he pressed his lips to hers. She struggled away from him and he allowed his flushed cheek to rest on her shoulder, body still heaving with exertion.

"I hate you," she hissed the words at him, attempting to tug her gown down over her exposed sex. His hands lazily prevented her from doing so.

"Oh, Wendy," he breathed her name heavily, "you can fight it all you want. But you'll never be able to deny the fact that I'm the only man who has ever brought you to orgasm."

Wendy clenched her jaw against him, her body stiffening as he rested against her. Oliver blinked lazily before turning to Lana, dark eyes smiling.

"By the way, Lana," his voice was cold, taunting, "I think it's safe to say I found some new spots within her that you didn't know about."


	12. Chapter 12

The tendons in Lana's fingers felt swollen and inflamed. She had been typing non-stop for what felt like several hours now, Oliver carefully dictating each sentence, word-for-word, and not bothering to wait for Lana to catch up to him. He spoke quickly, voice full of excitement and passion regarding his past and his current, tireless effort to bring proper psychiatric care to Briarcliff Manor.

He had begun the afternoon by pacing back and forth, his black dress shoes wearing on the tiled floor, eyes dark and focused in concentration as he spoke. Recently, however, he had taken a seat at the edge of the bed, his feet pulled up beneath him and hands resting in his lap. He had positioned himself a careful distance from Lana and also Wendy, who rested dully in the bed beside her. Thick chains adorned both of their ankles like fashionable bracelets, keeping them tethered to their designated spots.

Oliver's eyes were ever-watching, though when he found himself engrossed in these moments of all-consuming concentration, his gaze clouded. Lana and Wendy took advantage of these rare moments to partake in small displays of affection that were otherwise denied to them. Currently, Wendy was pressed closely to Lana as she typed, a delicate hand resting protectively on Lana's bare thigh. Wendy was curled onto her side, eyes blinking slowly as Lana's fingers worked on the typewriter. It was a small comfort, having Wendy so close to her. Wendy's continued presence was the single reason Lana hadn't yet gone completely insane.

"...and that continued, even when I was in medical school. My colleagues taunted me for my solitary lifestyle. They simply couldn't fathom the idea that I was so dedicated to my work that I didn't allow time for the idiocy that consumed their lives. While they were out with cheap women, women who wouldn't even remember their names the next day, I was studying. I was working _in_ the laboratory; dissecting, examining, working myself to the bone because I knew what I wanted. I wanted, one day, to become a distinguished member of the medical community. And that was something that simply no one understood."

He sighed heavily as he finished speaking and his head drooped a little. Lana's fingers finished typing before she looked up at him, blinking as she waited for more.

"You had so much promise," Lana heard the voice beside her and turned to see Wendy, propping her head lazily on her elbow as she watched him. "And yet, you've committed such heinous crimes. You're keeping two women chained up in your _basement_... and you've done far worse to others. Why would you risk everything you've worked so hard to obtain?"

Oliver's dark eyes flashed to her immediately, his head tilting. Lana stilled, her fingers gripping the edges of the typewriter as she swallowed, her mouth going dry. She couldn't stand to see him hurt Wendy, and the other woman's outbursts had become increasingly more common.

Instead, however, of growing angry, he looked intrigued. Untucking his legs, he took the typewriter from Lana. She stretched her fingers gratefully, watching as he removed the paper from the machine, placing it carefully face down along with the rest of the manuscript. He moved calmly; a man clearly in control of himself, and returned to the bed. Lana's flexing fingers drew his attention, and as their eyes met, he reached for her hand, taking it gently in his much larger palm.

His thick fingers grasped her trembling hand and Lana attempted to pull away from him, but he held tight.

"Your hand must be aching. I am sorry," he apologized earnestly. "I didn't realize how much I had to say, though I have to commend you. You're doing an excellent job of keeping up with my dictation." Absentmindedly, he began to stroke and massage Lana's hand as he turned his attention back to Wendy.

"That's an excellent question, Wendy. I should have expected so much from you, however. You are an educator of young minds. I'm sure that pretty little head of yours is full of curiosities. Perhaps one day I'll find out for myself."

Wendy's face paled at his implications, the fight immediately draining from her. The rage within Lana grew and she curled the tired fingers of her free hand into her palm, digging her short nails into her own skin to ground herself.

"When I was in medical school," he continued, his fingers still massaging Lana's hand despite her attempts to pull away from him, "just as I said, I was a dedicated student. I arrived earlier, I stayed later. I performed the tasks no one else wanted to complete. There were things that needed to be done; examinations to be performed, and autopsies to be done. These were human beings, laid out on steel tables, their bodies and organs exposed, and it was up to me to ensure they were taken care of." Lana felt the dread growing in her stomach as she listened, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. She couldn't help but note the irony in his words. "I was able to remain a respectful distance from most of my patients. They were, after all, my patients, living or deceased. And then one day, I saw her."

"Saw who?" Wendy asked, her voice shaking, eyes wide.

Oliver's lips curved into a smirk. His eyes fell to Lana's hand, still in his grasp, and he studied her long, slender fingers.

"There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand," he mentioned casually, long digits tracing down the knuckles in her hand. "Fourteen phlanges...these are the bones that make up your fingers..." he lightly pinched her index finger to make his point. "Metacarpals that connect the fingers to the wrist." His fingers crept toward her slender wrist, "And a plethora of nerves that connect each tendon and muscle and ensure that you can use your fingers for such intimate tasks as typing, sewing..." his eyes grew dark, "even touching yourself in the most personal of ways."

Disgust curled Lana's top lip just as he released her hand, tightening it in a tight fist and burying it in her lap.

Oliver's own fingers curled as well, as if he were savoring the memory of Lana's hand in his own. His eyes moved slowly back to Wendy, who was still watching him, eyes full.

"My mother," he answered her, grinning slightly. At the confusion on the other brunette's face, he corrected himself. "No... not my mother. Not really, of course. She was too young to have given birth to me, but she was the same age that my mother would have been when she abandoned me. She had died of a sudden and unexpected brain aneurysm. It was quite tragic... she was beautiful. Just to think that her own body had suddenly turned against her, ending her life. Do you understand what I'm saying, Wendy?"

Lana glanced toward her girlfriend, who, to her shock, was nodding slightly, her eyes still fixed on Oliver's dark face.

"I tried to be closer to her... after the rest of my colleagues had left. I stayed behind, in the operating theater, just to have a moment alone with her." As he spoke, his eyes clouded. They closed somewhat, opening a moment later to focus again on Wendy. "Oh, I wanted her so badly, but... she smelled of formaldehyde and I simply couldn't stomach it."

As the intentions of Oliver's words reached Lana, her lips parted in shock and disgust. Necrophilia. That's what he was implying... and the thought perhaps that he _hadn't_ resisted other corpses before he had forced himself into both Wendy and herself. The thought alone made Lana gag and wretch, the idea that some poor woman's body had been abused in such a manner and then those same body parts had been inside Lana's own warm, living body.

The sudden noise from Lana drew his attention, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"Lana...?" He questioned, blinking away the haze in his eyes.

"So it's not merely the living that you take advantage of?" She hissed at him, her stomach churning with revulsion. "You seriously considered raping a _corpse_, Oliver! You're crazier than even I thought."

"It wasn't rape," he defended himself, his voice rising. "It wasn't about the sex. It never was. I just... needed her skin against mine."

"What, so you could make another mask from her skin?" She growled at him.

"No!" He barked his response. "I needed my mother. I always needed her, and I didn't have her! She was right there... so close..."

"She was just some poor girl who had the unfortunate mistake of ending up on your operating table. She wasn't your mother." Lana's voice was hard, and she couldn't explain the unshakable feeling of sympathy and mourning for the young woman in question.

"Well of course she wasn't," he shook his head, "I know that now." His eyes darted to Wendy, a foolish smile slipping across his lips. "Now that I've found her."

Lana glanced toward Wendy, waiting for the spiteful reply that she had come to expect from her lover. To her shock, Wendy was left speechless, her brown eyes returning his deep stare.

"That's all I've ever really wanted," he continued, his large hand now seeking out Wendy's, curling his fingers around her palm. Lana watched as he brought her hand to his cheek, closing his eyes longingly as her fingers instinctively curled against his cheek. "I just wanted the touch of my mother. The touch of someone who loved me unconditionally and wouldn't abandon me when I needed her the most."

His eyes opened, hand still to his face.

"That's how I knew I needed you. And to think that I once thought Lana would suit my needs. Come to find out she'll serve an entirely different purpose. Won't you, Lana?" His eyes darted to her before he brought Wendy's hand down from his face, still holding it gently as he curled her fingers into a loose fist and placed gentle kisses on her knuckles. "Sweet Wendy. So delicate, so maternal. You spent your life caring for children, enriching their minds. I bet your students loved you, didn't they?"

Lana watched them carefully. At the mention of her young pupils, Wendy's eyes became glossy and full of tears, her lower lip trembling slightly. Lana's heart ached for her, and without even thinking she reached for her lover's hand, curling her fingers into Wendy's palm. For a brief moment, there was silence between the three of them as they held hands in a strange love-triangle of sorts, and the irony was not lost on Lana.

"This is exactly as I imagined it to be," Oliver broke the silence, shattering Lana's momentary peace. "The three of us, just happy to be together."

"We're not happy to be here," Lana defied him. "We _wouldn't_ be here if you hadn't chained us to our own bed. We-"

"Why us?" Wendy's voice was stronger now, she straightened herself in the bed, her eyes dark and narrowed in focus. Both Oliver and Lana looked toward her, blinking. Wendy was drawn to the moment now, her eyes serious. "Why did you choose us?"

Her sudden interest in his decisions seemed to please him, and he smirked. His fingers stroked Wendy's hand and she sat still, not bothering to pull away from him.

"I chose Lana first," he told her. "From the first moment I saw her at Briarcliff, I knew there was something special about her. She was so dedicated, so... alive. And beautiful." He swung his head toward her. "There was an instant attraction between us. I know you felt it, too, Lana."

"You're delusional," she spat the words at him and he shook his head.

"Maybe not right away," he cut her off, dark eyes focused on her. "But eventually, yes. You can't possibly think I've forgotten about that evening on your couch, Lana."

Her mouth went dry, face paling at the memory that had once seemed so innocent, even if a bit confusing. His thick fingers on the line of her jaw, his lips against hers. It had been so sudden, and, even if only for a moment, not unwelcome. The idea now, that she'd ever allowed herself to feel any sort of attraction toward him was sickening. The naivety of her feelings left her with a remorse that she couldn't properly express in words.

From the look on his face, she was aware that he knew he had caught her off guard. Just as a predator abandons its prey to watch it suffer after being attacked, Oliver's eyes turned back to Wendy.

"I didn't even know you existed, Wendy. Until I met you that night at the bar, I didn't realize how perfectly suited we were for one another. You were the yin to my yang. You were so full of confidence, and yet you were so easily pliable beneath my fingers. I hated to leave you in such disarray that evening. I didn't expect the minute amount of sodium pentothal I slipped into your drink to work so quickly or effectively. I certainly didn't mean for you to hurt your ankle."

Wendy just shook her head, blinking at the man.

"How could you do this to us?" She wondered, "I finally had my life in order. My job... it was everything to me. My students..."

"Your students are fine," he reassured her, though bitterness lined his voice. "They have families to go home to, other teachers who care for them. But you're the only one I have. Don't you understand that, Wendy? _Mommy_? I _need_ you."

Lana didn't recognize the blank look that had overtaken Wendy's eyes. Her lovely brown eyes were wide, full of an unrecognizable emotion that Lana couldn't place.

"Wendy?" She spoke her name softly, and Wendy blinked. She looked to Lana, but the blank expression remained in her eyes. "Wendy," Lana spoke again, though this time more forcefully. "Look at me."

Once again, the brunette blinked, her vision clear. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she shook her head, her pretty yet plain face flushed.

"I...I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, "I don't know-"

"Perhaps we should do a little more typing before we retire for the evening?" He interrupted Wendy's muddled thoughts. Crossing the room to the typewriter, he carried it back to Lana in his arms. He placed it carefully on the edge of the bed and watched as Lana hesitantly reached forward to grasp it, pulling it back onto her lap. Her fingers curled around the heavy metal of the machine as she glanced toward Wendy. The other woman still looked dazed. "Right now I'd like to focus on my experiences throughout medical school. There were so many interesting people I encountered." He eyed Lana. "Are your hands feeling any better?"

At the risk of him deciding to massage them again, she nodded quickly and positioned her fingers on the keys.

"I'm fine. I'm ready to begin"

Oliver sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to place himself in the moment. The sight of the man with his eyes closed, completely relaxed between the two of them, struck Lana suddenly. She looked toward Wendy, but the other woman seemed to be oblivious to the given moment. After a moment of attempting to gain Wendy's attention, she took a deep breath and worried her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing back at Oliver.

Lana knew she had to take the opportunity; that she might not get the chance again to strike against Oliver. It was a moment that occurred without much, if any preparation, but it was something that she couldn't resist taking advantage of. A moment like this might not come again.

Just as Oliver opened his eyes with a long sigh, Lana's fingers wrapped around the corners of the typewriter, and with all the force she could muster in the limbs that hadn't received proper nutrition in what felt like months, she heaved the typewriter towards him. The heavy machine found his head with a sickening thud that sent him tumbling backwards and onto the grimy tile floor. Lana realized, with a rush of adrenaline, that he was unconscious.

Taking full advantage of the moment, she sprung from the bed and scrambled over to his prone body on the floor, whispering a silent prayer that the keys were in his pocket, just as they always were. Her hands began to pat his slacks furiously, dipping into the dark pockets of his pants and releasing a loud sigh of relief as she retrieved a key ring, taking only a few precious seconds to find the key that she recognized as the one that released the heavy chain around her foot. With trembling fingers, she slipped the key into the lock's tumbler, hot tears pricking her eyes as she released the cuff and took a brief moment to stretch her foot without the impediment of the heavy chain around her ankle.

Working quickly, she hurried over to the bed, grabbed Wendy's ankle and began searching for the key that would release her lover from her entrapment as well. Wendy's eyes went wide suddenly, shaking her head quickly as she watched Lana struggle to find the key.

"Lana? What are you-"

Her question wasn't fully spoken before Lana plunged a key into the lock, turning it sharply and letting out a cry of utter joy as the chain fell from around Wendy's ankle. She glanced up quickly to her lover, who watched with a dazed, confused expression, dry lips parting slightly at Lana's actions.

"We have to get out of here _now_!" Lana reached for the other woman, keys still held tightly in her other hand. She began to tug Wendy from the bed, but, for some reason, Wendy seemed resistant. Rather than bolting for the door, her full weight was pressing against the bed, resisting Lana's urgings. "Wendy!" She yelled her lover's name, "Come on! We have to go before he wakes up!"

It took another moment and a few more times of hearing her name before Wendy finally allowed herself to be pulled from the bed, her eyes focused on Oliver as Lana pulled her across the length of the dungeon and towards the concrete stairs. Lana's bare feet slapped against the cold steps as she raced up them, Wendy's eyes still drawn to the unconscious and now-bleeding man on the grimy tile floor.

Lana's fingers were shaking harder now, trying one, two, three keys on the key-ring before finally, _finally_ finding the silver key that unlocked the steel door at the top of the stairs. She let out a surprised gasp as she heard the lock click within the door, her hand hesitating for only a moment on the small doorknob before daring to turn it.

The door opened with a groan and Lana laughed, a sob catching in her throat at the sight of the first floor of the house. They weren't out of danger yet, but they were above ground. They were mere moments away from being outside, among the living, rather than below ground with only the dead to keep them company.

She scrambled through the open door frame and held tight to Wendy's hand, dragging her through the hallway and into the living room while the other woman began to emit a soft, desperate whine behind her. Lana was oblivious to the quiet pleas that were beginning to fall from Wendy's lips, and her bare feet pounded across the carpeted floors, racing for the front door.

If she had expected their release to be easy, she would have been discouraged. On the front door were two large deadbolts, locked securely in place. Two keys remained unused on the key ring, and Lana quickly set out to determine which key fit with which lock. By this point, Wendy had fallen back onto the carpet behind Lana, her body a trembling mess as she began to sob openly.

"Wendy, quiet!" She hissed softly to the other woman as her fumbling hands chose the first key and attempted to slide it into a lock. Her breath was coming in loud pants and she could only pray that he would remain unconscious for a few more moments. Enough time to secure their escape. A shaky breath of relief escaped from Lana as the first deadbolt slid open, and she glanced to the second one. It felt as if she were in an hourglass, each second ticking by with the visualization of the sand falling around her. There were only so many moments left before both of them would be buried by the mistakes that were costing them time.

Lana tried to catch her breath, listening for any tell-tale signs that Oliver was stirring beneath them. Wendy's sobs were growing louder and her fingers were shaking violently as Lana managed to unlock the final barrier standing between them and their freedom. The lock slid free, her fingers flying to the doorknob and turning the knob. Sunlight washed over both of them, burning Lana's eyes after so long without being exposed to natural light. She felt a rush of epinephrine through her system and paused just long enough to take a shuddering breath before glancing back at Wendy.

The other woman's dark eyes were looking toward the open door, squinting as she studied the escape that was literally three feet away. Lana reached for her, tugging on her hand, but her weight held against the floor.

"Wendy, _please_! We _have_ to go!" Lana's voice was breaking now, frustration welling in her throat and tears slipping down her cheeks. "He's going to come up here _any _second and we are so close!" She glanced desperately at the open door again, tugging on her lover's hand. "We just need to get outside, okay? Let's just get outside, and we can talk about whatever you're upset about, okay? We-"

"Lana," Wendy begged suddenly, "no,_ please_. I can't-"

"You can't what?" Lana demanded, still tugging on her hand pleadingly, "We _have_ to go!"

"I think I might be pregnant, Lana!"

Her sudden outburst took the fight out of Lana, her face blanching and going pale as she allowed the words to sink in. The breath slipped from her lungs, her hand releasing Wendy's. Lana knew, in the back of her mind, that she needed to keep pushing Wendy to get up, to run out the front door and not to stop running until they were a hundred miles away from Oliver Thredson. Still, she couldn't muster any form of intelligent dialogue, and instead, felt the bile rising in her throat. She opened her mouth in a desperate attempt to plead with Wendy, but no words would come. Her hands were shaking harder now, and Wendy looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Lana, say something..." Wendy begged her softly, her chin trembling as tears slipped down her cheeks. "Please, say something."

Lana stood silently, though the pounding in her ears was as loud as a beating drum. She knew she should say something to the crying woman at her feet, but she simply couldn't gather herself enough to speak. The thought that, at this very moment, her girlfriend was possibly growing that monster's child within her womb made Lana feel like she was suffocating. She wet her lips desperately with her dry tongue, shaking her head. Amongst the drumming of her heartbeat, she recognized a dreadful sound from through the house, and she shook her head slowly.

"He's coming," Lana acknowledged quickly, "He's awake."

In one last determined attempt, she curled her fingers around Wendy's slender wrist and bent close to her lover.

"Wendy," she whispered her name quickly, "please. You have to come with me. We can take care of this, okay? We'll take care of everything, but we won't be able to do that until we're not being held like slaves anymore. Wendy." She placed her hands on either side of Wendy's face, staring deep into her eyes, her breath heavy in her chest. "Wendy, _goddamnit, _listen to me!"

Wendy's eyes met hers suddenly, and the foreboding sound of feet pounding up the basement stairs filled Lana's chest with a tightening sensation that she could only describe as damning. He was closing in on them, and Wendy was no closer to moving an inch.

"Wendy, what- I don't understand," she begged her, "why aren't you leaving? This is our _chance_!"

The sound of Oliver's heavy feet upon the foundation at the top of the stairs was a deafening omen, but she couldn't leave. Even though the door was wide open and Lana was literally feet away from the only chance of escape she might have, she couldn't leave Wendy here. By the time she got to the police and was able to convince them that the well-respected psychiatrist was actually a serial killer, it may be too late. And then, the striking realization came back to her. Back in her home, when she'd tried to call the police to report Wendy's disappearance, Oliver had offered to call his friend, the detective. He had the police under his thumb. The authorities would be no help to her.

"I can't leave, Lana..." Wendy's voice was a desperate whimper, "I can't leave... _him_."

The words couldn't have come as a bigger shock to her, and Lana stumbled backward, panting.

Her feet hit something hard, and Lana assumed she had backed into a wall. Immediately, however, fingers tangled hard in her hair and twisted her head around, dark eyes glaring down at her. Oliver's forehead was coated with blood which seeped from an angry gash just above the line of his scalp. His breath was coming heavily and he gripped her waist with his other hand, pulling her to him harshly. He used his foot to kick the front door shut and Lana glanced toward Wendy, reaching for her desperately. Wendy curled her legs to her chest, her head falling into her knees as she began to sob again, broken apologies falling from her lips as she watched Oliver drag Lana by her hair down the path to the basement door.

Lana shrieked, losing her footing beneath her as she was pulled down the path that had been marked with Oliver's blood. She twisted in his grasp, pleading with him to release her. His grasp only seemed to tighten in her hair, pulling hard on her scalp and causing Lana to cry out in pain.

As he pulled her towards the basement stairs, she began to panic, her arms flailing in an attempt to break free from his tight grasp. He did release her, and swung her over his shoulder like a child, her legs hanging over the front of his chest, her head hanging from his back. She tried to use her fists against his back, to use her legs to kick him, but it was to no avail. Once they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Lana prepared herself to go back into the bed, though he passed the bed, stopping in another part of the dungeon. She hadn't had time to prepare herself for when he threw her forward, her head hitting hard against the steel table.

The impact was so jarring that white spots blurred her vision, her head lolling to the side helplessly as she watched Oliver secure her to the table using thick leather straps. He pulled them tight around her wrists and ankles, and in her fuzzy state of mind the only concern she had was whether or not they would cut off her circulation.

"This is getting rather old, isn't it, Lana?" His annoyed voice asked.

The pain from being thumped so roughly against the metal surface began to blossom from her head, running down the length of her back and to her heels. She groaned, her mouth falling open as she blinked away the stars in her vision.

"Don't-" she pleaded, her voice hoarse, "Please, don't. My body..."

He continued his work of tying her body securely to the metal table before leaning down to her, his mouth next to her ear.

"It's no longer your body I want," he snarled at her. "At least not in the way I've previously experienced it. Now, all I really want are to explore the little bits and pieces that really make Lana Winters who she is. And I'm going to do that very slowly." He punctuated each torturous word with a hiss.

"You're not..." Lana spat the words back at him despite the dizziness and the feeling of fading consciousness within her, "You're not going to win, Oliver. You can't..."

"Let me tell you something, Lana," his voice was calm now, and it somehow frightened her more. The fact that he could possess such ordinary characteristics even when overcome by rage caused her to look up at him with tears burning her eyes. One tear slipped from her tear duct and trailed down her cheek. Shockingly, he used his thumb to smear the solitary tear into her hot skin. "There are many ways I could have gone about bringing those women back to my home. They would have trusted me, just as you had, but there was something about the intensity of the struggle that enticed me... it made me want more."

In response, Lana struggled against her bindings and Oliver watched her.

"And do you know how I obtained the women who were here before you? How I managed to take that scalpel and cut their skin from their bones while they were still breathing? I learned very quickly that the pain drives the fight from them. And you, Lana, have just a little too much fight in you."

Lana gasped softly, her eyes widening as he began to tear a length of silver duct tape from a roll, placing it over her gaping mouth.

"Just until I get the house secured again," he explained. "I can't have you screaming and waking up the whole neighborhood, now can I?" He reached behind him for a syringe, whistling an eerie tune as he worked at his makeshift workbench. "I'm going to give you just a little something to reduce the noise that you'll make. I've heard that amputations can be _very _painful if given too little anesthesia."

Lana's eyes widened, her head twisting furiously as she cried out from behind the tape. Her hands wiggled desperately, feet attempting to kick free of her bindings.

"Oliver?" Lana heard the soft voice behind them, and both she and Oliver looked quickly toward the source. Wendy stood watching them with dark eyes, her hands protectively curled in front of her. "What are you doing?"

"You were going to leave me," he turned his anger toward Wendy suddenly, "I should have expected it from Lana, but not from you... not you, Wendy. _Mommy_." His voice broke as he spoke, shaking his head sadly.

"No, I wasn't-" Wendy pressed her lips together, tears welling in her eyes again. "I can't leave you. Not now. Not like this."

He stopped, blinking, watching her.

"I've listened to you," Wendy stepped forward slowly, "I've heard your story. I'm willing to be here for you. You need me," she spoke, her voice trembling. "But I need Lana. And you won't have me if you hurt her."

He watched her silently, and Lana wished she could see his facial expressions in the darkness of the basement. After a moment, however, the needle fell to the floor, his shoulders began to shudder before a quiet sob slipped from his throat. He went to Wendy immediately, falling to his knees just before her and burying his face in her stomach, grasping her waist tightly.

"I'm sorry," he pleaded, tears breaking his voice, "I'm sorry, Mommy."

Lana's eyes met Wendy's across the room, and Wendy wiped a tear away as she allowed one hand to rest in his dark hair, her gaze never breaking from her girlfriend's eyes.

"I'm sorry, too," she stated quietly, speaking directly to Lana over Oliver's head. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."


End file.
